


A Late Frost

by Mhalachai



Series: Blood In The Water [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Family Secrets, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-08 00:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10373844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: The one thing that Yuuri didn't expect about the World Figure Skating Championships in Boston was that beating two world records and winning a gold medal was going to be theeasypart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is less supernatural than the other stories in this series, but we will return to that in future installments. 
> 
> I apologize for doing terrible things with the figure skating scoring system, but the show started it.

* * *

From the shelter of the hallway, Yuuri looked out at the arena. Thousands of spectators screamed with enough force to shake his bones.

Distantly, he wondered if he was going to throw up.

"Yuuri, are you listening to me?" Viktor's voice penetrated the haze in Yuuri's head. "J.J. is almost done, and then you're up."

"I know," Yuuri heard himself say. His stomach cramped with anxiety and fear. He wasn't going to be able to do this; go out there and skate in front of everyone. He'd collapse on the ice and bring shame to everyone who had ever supported him; Viktor and his entire family and Minako and Coach Celestino—

"Yuuri." Viktor put his hands on Yuuri's cheeks. The touch was a shock that sent an electric chill down Yuuri's spine. "Look at me."

Yuuri put his hands over Viktor's as he looked into Viktor's beautiful blue-green eyes. Something about the man's closeness, how real he was, dimmed the sound from the crowd. "Viktor."

"Yuuri." Viktor stepped against Yuuri. "You can do this. You know you can do this."

"I'm fourth," Yuuri said. "Even Otabek was better than me in the short program, and with you and Yurio—"

"Shush," Viktor said. He kissed the tip of Yuuri's nose. "The top four are only separated by five points, do you know how rare that is?"

Yuuri did know, but whatever confidence he'd had at facing Viktor and Yurio on the ice vanished after he'd seen the short program results.

"Your strength is in your free program, it always has been," Viktor went on. He ran his thumb over Yuuri's cheek. "You broke the free program world record at the Grand Prix Final, and you finished nearly twenty points over everyone else at the Four Continents. What makes you think that you won't be as magnificent this time?"

Yuuri closed his eyes. "I'm just… me," he whispered.

"Yes," Viktor agreed lightly. "You are."

Yuuri pulled back, opening his eyes to see Viktor looking at him with amusement. "What does that mean?"

Viktor moved his hands down to rest on Yuuri's waist. "You are the same man you've always been," Viktor said quietly, but still amused. "You won silver at the Grand Prix Final, you won gold at the Four Continents, and now you're going to go out there and skate a program that's going to knock us all into the dust."

"Viktor…"

"Yuuri."

Yuuri put his hands over his eyes, making himself take deep breaths. He knew this was how figure skating worked; the coach could only do so much, it was up to the skater to step out onto the ice.

"I want you to be proud of me," Yuuri whispered, staring at Viktor's shoulder. "I want you to know that I've done my best."

"And you will," Viktor said, knocking his skate boot against Yuuri's.

"No, listen," Yuuri said. He took another deep breath. "My best, it's from what you have given to me." Yuuri looked into Viktor's eyes, and hoped Viktor could hear the truth he was speaking. "You gave me this, you've always given me the strength to keep pushing." Yuuri reached up to touch Viktor's lower lip. "When I go onto the ice, I want you to know that I'm skating for you as much as I'm skating for me."

"Oh, Yuuri," Viktor breathed. He kissed Yuuri's fingers. "I know."

"Then watch me skate today," Yuuri said, feeling less shaky with every breath. "Not as my coach and not as my competitor, but as my future husband. Watch me skate and know it's for you."

Catching at the thin threads of confidence, Yuuri leaned in to kiss Viktor hard. Viktor's hands tightened on Yuuri's waist, pulling him in.

Someone cleared their throat. Yuuri pulled back, startled, to find Yakov standing a few feet away. "You have to get out there," Yakov said, dour as only he could be. "Vitya, get your skater on the ice."

"Of course, Coach Yakov," Viktor said, sending a smile in the older man's direction.

If anything, Yakov's expression grew gruffer. "Good luck, Katsuki," he said. "Go out there and show the world what training in Russia can do for a man."

"Thank you," Yuuri said, baffled.

"Come on," Viktor said, twining his fingers through Yuuri's. "Time to show the world that you're a champion."

Yuuri let Viktor lead him down the hallway, out into the wide open expanse of the arena. It seemed that all of Boston had come to cheer on the skaters in the World Championship men's free program.

 _Breathe,_ Yuuri reminded himself.

J.J. was still waiting for his score, so Viktor led Yuuri up to the ice before turning him around to push a strand of hair back from Yuuri's temple. "We've practiced for this," Viktor said, his hands moving to smooth the fabric of Yuuri's costume over his shoulders. "For months. Everything you need today, you've been consistent at in practice for weeks."

"I know."

Overhead, the announcer spoke into a sudden lull, announcing J.J.'s scores. Viktor's eyes drifted to the scoreboard for a moment. "You can still do this," he said. "His combined score was good, but if you get at least two hundred, you'll still medal."

Yuuri's eyes widened in disbelief. "Medal?" he exclaimed. Thankfully, his eruption was covered by the roar of the crowd. "Five seconds ago you were telling me that I could get gold!"

"I know." Viktor's gaze came back to Yuuri. There was a spark there that Yuuri knew so well. "So what's it going to be?"

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. In Japanese, he said, "You are such a difficult person, I don't know why I love you so much."

Viktor cocked his head to the side. "What was that?"

Yuuri bent over to remove his skate guards. In English, he said, "I'll see you from the top of the podium, _Vitya_."

Viktor grinned suddenly, so damned handsome that Yuuri wanted to smack him. "That's what I thought you said."

Yuuri slapped his skate guards onto the boards. "Don't take your eyes off me," he instructed. "I'm going to show you what figure skating's all about."

Viktor's whistle of appreciation followed Yuuri onto the ice.

He had never skated in Boston before, but he was used to American crowds. The screaming was a physical thing, and Yuuri rolled with it, waving at the crowds as he skated in a lazy eight to test the ice. He felt good, physically; he had managed to get enough sleep, he'd had three small meals that day that left him feeling light yet strong, and his muscles and joints were loose and ready. His costume had been retailored the previous month for a better fit across his shoulders. His skates were just the right sharpness, the boots well worn-in, his laces tight.

And in the end, Yuuri knew none of that would matter if he wasn't strong enough to hold himself together.

His eyes skimmed over the audience. Being able to see with contact lenses on the ice was still a novelty to him. So many people in the crowd were holding Japanese flags and signs with his name on them. He swallowed a shiver of doubt. So many people here to see him; what if he flubbed?

A shout drew Yuuri's attention. It was Christophe in the front row, sidelined from performing after breaking his arm earlier that month in what the press releases had euphemistically called a 'climbing accident'. "Yuuri!" Chris shouted again. "Bonne courage!"

Yuuri let out a huff of laughter. "Merci!" he yelled back as he moved to take up his position on the ice. He bowed to the judges' panel before rotating into position. This left him staring directly at Viktor, who hadn't moved from his place by the boards.

 _Watch me,_ Yuuri begged silently. _I will make you proud of me._

Almost as if Viktor could hear Yuuri, he raised his right hand to his lips, and pressed a kiss against his gold ring.

 _Yes,_ Yuuri thought. He lifted his own hand, kissed his own ring, then straightened his back to get into his starting stance.

In the few quiet seconds before the music started, Yuuri reviewed his program. He and Viktor had been working on the changes he'd spontaneously made to his free program at the Grand Prix Final, where he'd beaten Viktor's world record, and now he could skate the program in his sleep. It was grueling, pulling together twelve jumps with the most difficult in the second half. The only jumps he wasn't performing were the quad loop and the quad lutz, both of which were still outside of his reach. _Next year_ , he promised himself, setting his skates into position and lowering his hands to his sides.

The arena fell into a hush.

Yuuri looked at the ice. This was probably going to be the last time he performed his _Yuri on Ice!_ free program. This moment was the culmination of a year's hard work, of a lifetime's dedication to the ice.

 _I'm going to show the world,_ Yuuri thought as he took a deep breath. _I'm going to show the world who I am on the ice._

The music started, and Yuuri began to move.

His first step off was strong; he glided over the ice without hesitation, just as he had done in practice. He moved and spun, getting ready for his first jump. His blade dug into the ice and he jumped, floating, spinning, before coming back to the ice's surface, landing perfectly.

The cheers from the crowd faded into the background as Yuuri moved with the music. This was his story he was telling – his journey on the ice. The ice had brought him many things over the years; a purpose, an escape, even love. But under it all, skating had taught Yuuri how to be strong.

He nailed his next jump. _Focus on the story_ , Yuuri reminded himself. He knew the elements of his program off by heart, but without Yuuri telling his own story, it was just a bunch of unconnected steps.

 _I started off feeling so alone, and now I'm here._ Yuuri spun, his eyes stinging in the cold air. The sensation was a faint distraction, nothing more. Discomfort didn't matter. Pain didn't matter. For a few minutes, skating was all that mattered.

But it was hard. Coach Celestino had always told Yuuri and Phichit that figure skating was more like a sprint than a marathon, and skating flat-out for four and a half minutes was exhausting for the fittest athletes. Yuuri breathed deep and held himself perfectly in form, but his muscles burned with the effort. _Focus on the story_ , Yuuri told himself as he glided into the set-up for his next jump-combo. _This is where I started to see how many people love and support me. Let me show them that!_

He jumped, spun, landed, and then jumped again. He landed perfectly, with a sweep of leg as he whirled into his step sequence.

He knew Viktor was watching him; knew his family and friends were watching him. _This is for you,_ Yuuri thought over the flames of exhaustion in his body. _You love me, and this is how I show you what that love means to me_.

Nearly there. Next up was the quad flip jump, Viktor's signature move. Yuuri had been landing the jump nearly half the time in practice; but in practice, he was never this exhausted, hadn't poured out his entire body and soul onto the ice like he had today.

 _This is for Viktor,_ Yuuri thought, nearly gasping as he gathered speed for the jump. _This is to show the world that my heart is Viktor's heart._

Yuuri jumped.

He nailed the quad flip, and the audience exploded.

 _This is who I am_ , Yuuri thought as he gathered himself up into his final spins. _The ice made me strong. It gave me love, and this is who I am._

He straightened into his final spin, dragging his toe pick in the ice to stop, and moved his arms in his performance's final gesture, a delicate, reaching declaration of love to where Viktor stood at the side of the rink.

Yuuri was finished.

The roar from the crowd echoed and pulsed over Yuuri. His entire body shook from fatigue, sweat streaming down his face, and he was breathing so hard that he thought he might fall over.

He had done it. This had been the best performance of his entire career. After the Grand Prix Finale, he had cheered, but now it was all he could do to stay on his feet. He had nothing left in him.

Viktor was looking at him, a point of stillness in the movement and chaos of the arena. With his contacts, Yuuri could see Viktor clearly, could see the love and pride on Viktor's face, and that was worth far more than anything the judges could have to say.

Yuuri had Viktor, forever.

Yuuri lowered his arms. Still breathing heavily, Yuuri turned to bow towards the judges, then waved to the rest of the arena. The audience was still screaming and cheering, throwing things onto the ice. Young figure skaters were speeding over the ice, picking up the offerings. When Yuuri was sure that his legs would hold him, he pushed off shakily towards the boards. He picked up a little stuffed sushi toy on his way, for some reason finding it absolutely hilarious.

Viktor was waiting for him at the boards, hands outstretched. Yuuri nearly collapsed into his embrace, one arm going around Viktor's neck while the other clutched at the stuffed sushi. "You did it," Viktor whispered in Yuuri's ear, his embrace solid and grounding. "Oh, Yuuri, you were perfect."

"Did you see me?" Yuuri asked, pressing his forehead against Viktor's neck. "No, of course you did."

"Of course I did." Viktor kissed Yuuri's hair. "Come, let's go wait for your scores."

Yuuri straightened up. Viktor's eyes glowed with delight and energy, and he smiled as if Yuuri was the sun and moon. Yuuri's heart soared with happiness when Viktor looked at him that way. Viktor understood how much work it had taken to skate that program. Viktor understood how much of himself Yuuri had poured out onto the ice.

After so long of feeling alone, Yuuri had someone who understood what drove him. He was never letting Viktor go.

"Skate guards," was all Viktor said. Yuuri tucked the stuffed sushi under his arm to put on his skate guards, then accepted an armful of red and white roses from someone in passing.

The crowd in the arena was still cheering, and Yuuri waved the stuffed sushi roll at them and at the cameras as Viktor guided him over to the kiss-and-cry.

Sitting down was a welcome relief. Viktor draped Yuuri's jacket over his shoulders, then sat to put his hand on Yuuri's lower back. He leaned over to say, "Sit straight and don't let them see how tired you are."

"If I showed anyone how tired I was, I'd be lying in the centre of the ice," Yuuri whispered, but when he sat back, he held his spine straight enough to make Minako proud.

"Well done out there," Viktor said, loud enough for the cameras to pick up. "All that work on your spins really paid off." He picked up a water bottle and uncapped it. "Here."

"The ice was good," Yuuri said. He placed the stuffed sushi between him and Viktor, shifted his roses to his left arm, and took the water. He drank half the bottle before coming up for air. "I was getting tired near the end."

Viktor coughed to hide a laugh. "You had more energy than I've seen you skate this program."

Yuuri knew that Viktor was treating this as a continuation of the performance on the ice, but he still wanted to roll his eyes. "There was saying in Detroit." He drank some more. "There's a time when you need to empty the tank."

Viktor turned to him, frowning. "A tank of what? Empty it how?"

Yuuri shrugged. "Onto the ice?" He made a pouring motion with the nearly-empty water bottle. As he did so, he caught sight of the numbers on the small monitor. "What's that?" he asked, blinking a few times. The contact lenses had to be messing with his vision.

"That's your technical score." Viktor's hand slid up Yuuri's back to squeeze his shoulder.

Yuuri blinked again. "It's too high."

"I know, you're going to be absolutely impossible to beat." Viktor had never sounded so smug.

"No, I mean…" Yuuri set down the water bottle. If he was to believe the numbers, his performance had been technically perfect.

Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders to give him a sideways hug. "I told you," he said quietly. "You were sublime."

"Oh." Yuuri blinked again. With a technical score that high, even if the judges marked him down on his performance scores, he would likely break the free program world record he had set at the Grand Prix Final. " _Oh_."

An amplified voice spoke into the arena, and Yuuri found himself biting his lower lip in anticipation. Viktor's hand tightened on Yuuri's arm.

The announcer spoke his score, and the arena erupted. Viktor jumped up in celebration, but for a heartbeat all Yuuri could do was stare.

223.71. He'd beaten his old free skate record by two points. With the score from his short program, his combined score was over 336.

He had just broken Viktor's combined score world record.

Yuuri let the flowers fall out of his grasp as he put his hands to his face. Last year this time, he was at the lowest point in his entire figure skating career, and now he held the world record.

He stood up, his knees feeling like jelly. He didn't know what to do. He had spent months, years, driving himself to this point, but he had never let himself really imagine what he would _do_.

As always, Viktor saved him. Taking his hand, Viktor raised it in victory. "Wave!" Viktor urged him, as cheers rolled down from the audience. "Have some fun!"

Yuuri waved at the crowd, and that simple motion pulled him up and set his head spinning. He had worked so hard, and he had done it.

Buoyed with exhilaration, Yuuri hugged Viktor, nearly knocking the other man off his feet. "Thank you," Yuuri said, resisting the urge to kiss Viktor breathless in front of a crowd of thousands. _"Thank you!"_

"This was you," Viktor said, rubbing his back. "This was all you."

The noise overhead changed as Otabek's name was announced. Yuuri broke from the hug to gather up his flowers and his stuffed sushi. Giddily, he let Viktor guide him over to the holding area where the previous skaters were waiting.

"Stretch out your legs," Viktor said, his face more relaxed now that the cameras were off them. "You don't want to cramp up."

"I will." Yuuri set down his handfuls on a bench to slip his arms into his jacket. He was feeling the chill after his exertion and the adrenaline high of his scores. "You should go get ready for your skate."

"I do." Viktor waited until Yuuri was seated, then handed him another bottle of water. "Don't drink too much water too fast."

"I won't." Yuuri held onto Viktor's hand for a moment. "Viktor, you're going to do so great in your performance."

Viktor smiled, then quickly went down on one knee. "A kiss for luck?" he asked.

Yuuri kissed Viktor, putting into it all the love and gratitude and passion he could. They broke apart after a regrettably short moment. Viktor was breathing heavily.

"Go surprise me," Yuuri said, cupping Viktor's cheek. "You always do."

Viktor grinned even wider, leaned back in to steal a last kiss, then was off. No sooner had he vanished than the other skaters descended on Yuuri, congratulating him for his performance and breaking the world record.

It took Yuuri a moment to realize that he hadn't seen someone. "Where did Phichit get to?" he asked Seung-gil.

"He'll be back in a minute."

"He didn't miss the skate, did he?" Yuuri asked, suddenly chilled. Phichit had been his best friend for so long, , and Yuuri had wanted to share his success with the man who had stood by his side.

"No, he just…" Seung-gil was interrupted as Phichit appeared out of nowhere and tackled Yuuri.

"Yuuri!" Phichit's voice was nearly supersonic in its excitement. "You did so great!"

"You saw?" Yuuri wrapped his arms around Phichit in an attempt to keep his balance.

"Saw?" Phichit pulled back to ruffle Yuuri's hair, ignoring Yuuri's squawk of protest. "I had to pee so bad I nearly wet myself holding it to watch you skate!"

Yuuri started laughing, the sort of uncontrollable laughter that Phichit could bring out in him. Leo and Guang Hong shushed him as the music of Otabek's performance began, but he couldn't stop tiny giggles from escaping as Phichit squished in with him on the bench to watch Otabek skate.

Otabek was good, very good. He had increased the difficulty of his free skate since the Four Continents Championship, and he had always had a distinct artistry to his performance. At nineteen, he had improved greatly over the last year, as Yuuri had seen in watching his past performances before the 4CCs. Yuuri had no doubt in another year, Otabek would be strong completion, for both himself and for Yurio.

"He's got great bounce," Phichit said, his eyes locked on Otabek. "When I hear this music I want to go fight a rampaging army or something."

"He's really strong," Yuuri said in return. "He should be bringing in another quad to his program, he's got the legs for it."

"It's not the jump, it's the landing," Phichit said in Yuuri's ear, and Yuuri nearly lost it again. Coach Celestino had yelled that at them often in the Detroit rink, and they had made it into their own private joke whenever anything had gone wrong.

"Stop it, I'm trying to watch," Yuuri said when he had his giggles back under control.

"Some world record holder you are, if you can't even pay attention," Phichit shot back. They both held their breath as Otabek lined up for his final quad. He landed perfectly, moving in the last part of his performance.

"This isn't a dream?" Yuuri asked hesitantly as Otabek finished on the ice with a flourish. "This is really happening?"

"Yeah." Phichit leaned against Yuuri's side. "You really did it."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow."

As Otabek skated off the ice, Yuuri reached down for the water Viktor had left him. "Viktor might still beat me," Yuuri said quietly as the air buzzed around them. "Or Yurio. Their short program scores were higher than mine."

"Neither of them can skate like you in the free program, not like you've been doing this year," Phichit said, suddenly serious. "Viktor is so much stronger in the short program. Even that world record you broke in Barcelona, he set that when he was twenty-two. He hadn't been getting nearly that high in recent years. And the other Yuri doesn't have your stamina, for all that his performance scores are high."

"They could still beat me," Yuuri said. A coldness that had nothing to do with the rink's temperature was settling in his stomach. "I mean, I could have a new world record for twenty minutes, and they could beat me to the gold."

Something whacked Yuuri in the back of the head.

"Hey!" Yuuri sat up, rubbing his head. "What was that for?"

"You," Phichit said. He didn't look repentant. "If either of those Russians beats you to the top of the podium, I'll eat my skate boot."

Yuuri opened the water bottle. "I don't want…" He took a sip of water, Viktor's caution on over-hydration in his mind. "It's not about Yurio."

"Are you worried about beating Viktor?" Phichit asked.

Yuuri drank more water. "Maybe."

"He's not going to be mad if you do."

"That's what he said."

"Good. Listen to him."

Yuuri hummed a vague agreement as he stretched out his left leg. Viktor had spent a large portion of the previous day talking about how Yuuri was going to win gold, effectively putting Viktor in second or even third place, and he had sounded relatively happy about the whole thing.

But Viktor had been pulling in world records and gold medals for nearly a decade. Would he really be happy to be relegated to second place by the man he was coaching?

A cheer went up as Otabek's scores were announced. All the skaters in holding clapped and whooped.

"Wow!" Phichit said, standing up to applaud. "He got 299.32! That's his highest score ever!"

Yuuri also stood and clapped hard for Otabek. The Kazakh skater had been improving all season, and Yuuri had really enjoyed his performance. He couldn't wait to see what the man had in store for next season.

 _Next season_. Yuuri's hands slowed as the implications dawned on him. He'd already told Viktor that he would skate again next season, not really giving it much thought as he'd had to get through Worlds first. But now, Yuuri was done his season, with the future stretching out wide before him.

_What am I going to do now?_

Otabek had arrived in the holding pen, and everyone was congratulating him. Yuuri shook himself out of his stupor to go over to shake hands. "That was really great," Yuuri said. "Your spins are amazing."

Otabek shrugged. "it was okay," he said, but he looked as pleased as he ever did. "Nice world record."

"Um, thanks."

Then Otabek smiled. "Do you think Yura will break it in a minute?"

"I'm sure he's going to try."

Overhead, Yurio's name was announced. The skaters settled back down, Yuuri standing behind the benches to stretch his legs. He wanted the best place to see Yurio's performance.

Yurio skated out onto the ice, to intense cheers. His hair and costume were perfect, as always, but his expression was stormier than Yuuri had yet seen on the boy.

"Does he always look this angry?" Guang Hong asked Leo, both of them seated in front of Yuuri.

Leo shrugged. "Maybe he got some bad news or something."

Yuuri leaned back against the wall as he pulled his leg up to stretch out his hamstring. He had watched Yurio at practice for months now, and it was apparent that something was up with the younger skater. Yurio didn't look around as he centred himself on the ice, didn't look back to Yakov for any last instruction.

Speaking of Yakov, Yuuri could see the old man standing at the side of the ice, his brow furrowed as he watched his skater get ready.

Strange. Yurio had been in such high spirits the previous day.

Yuuri gave his leg one last pull before shaking himself to stand straight, moments before Yurio's music began.

Something was off. Yurio's strokes were too hard as he began, his body pushing itself too far for so early in the program. Phichit had been right about Yurio; his scores came from his technical expertise and his choreography, not his stamina. But it wasn't just that; Yuuri had seen Yurio skate hard through a full-day's practice, and how he was skating here was burning needless energy.

Why was he skating like this? Surely not from anything Yakov had said.

On the ice, Yurio was preparing for his second quad, the crowd clapping encouragement as he flew over the ice.

One of the things that was so hard to explain about being an elite athlete, in any sport, was that by the time one had achieved a certain level of expertise and experience, one could predict what would come next from the smallest of indicators. Viktor liked to tease Yuuri about his ability to tell which way a skater was going to fall even before they had launched into a jump, but it was something that Yuuri had developed the hard way over years of painful experience of slamming into the ice.

That may have been why Yuuri's body tensed painfully even as Yurio dipped to launch into his jump. As soon as the boy left the ice, it was clear that his angle of spin was wrong, but he was going too fast to correct in the microseconds he was airborne. Yuuri had only just clapped his hand over his mouth when Yurio went down.

He didn't just land hard, he landed _wrong_ , and his momentum spun him out flat onto the ice, his left side taking most of the impact.

The arena took a collective gasp of breath, and Yuuri's view was temporarily blocked as most of the other skaters stood to get a better view.

"He's getting up!" Phichit said in Yuuri's ear, clutching at his friend's arm.

"There's no blood," put in Georgi. "Yura, come on, skate it off!"

On the ice, Yurio was back on his feet. The crowd clapped as he resumed his skate, but he had lost precious time and momentum.

"His hands are shaking," Yuuri said in a whisper, for Phichit's ears only. "I think he's hurt."

"A fall like that would rattle anyone's bones," Phichit replied. "He's still making his jumps."

Yuuri tensed as Yurio landed cleanly. "That was supposed to be a quad toe loop, not a triple." He dug his fingers into the hem of his jacket. "He's going to be so disappointed."

Over the past three months, Yuuri had seen how desperate Yurio was to be the best, how hard he worked at everything to make him a better figure skater. He'd been so _angry_ after the European Championships, when Viktor had beaten him to the top of the podium, vowing that nothing and no one would stand between him and a World gold.

That was over now. Yuuri didn't need to see the technical score counter to see the lowness of Yurio's marks. With the jerkiness of his movements, his performance scores weren't going to be to make up for it.

Yuuri remembered how that felt, about being on the ice in the last minute of a program and knowing that it was a disaster, but needing to hold his head high and finish. The last time it had been that bad for Yuuri had been at the disastrous Grand Prix Final the day after Vicchan died. The memory of grief and disappointment rose up in Yuuri's throat, the sour taste of remembered failure on his tongue.

On the ice, Yurio was drawing to a close. His left hand trembled as he took his final position. Maybe Yuuri was a coward, but he was glad that from this position he couldn't see Yurio's face.

The crowd clapped politely. Yurio barely waited until after the music ended before turning to skate over to the boards. Yakov was there, hand out to take Yurio by the arm. With the clarity of sight his new contacts gave him, Yuuri could see the boy flinch when Yakov's hand closed around his left arm.

In holding, the skaters were settling back on the benches. Phichit stayed beside Yuuri. "I know what that feels like," Yuuri said quietly. "Trying so hard, but getting fucked up and not being able to get back into things."

Phichit slipped his arm through Yuuri's, leaning in close like they had done at the rink in Detroit. "It happens to all of us."

"That doesn't make it any easier to handle."

"You really like that kid, don't you?"

Yuuri shrugged one shoulder. "We're friends. I think."

"Good." Phichit squeezed Yuuri's arm. "I was worried you'd be lonely in Russia with only Nikiforov and his poodle to keep you company."

Yuuri looked away from where Yakov had settled Yurio in the kiss-and-cry to focus on Phichit. "You can come train in St. Petersburg if you want."

Phichit grinned as he gave a fake shudder. "No thanks! I'll stick with Bangkok. People aren't meant to live in a place where there's ice for most of the year."

"Phichit, we lived in _Detroit_."

"And it was never that cold."

Overhead, the announcer spoke. Yuuri let out a breath as he heard Yurio's score. It was low, but not disastrously so. Combined with his outstanding short program scores, he would probably only be a few spots off the platform.

"He'll do better next year," Yuuri said. "He just turned sixteen."

"I wish I could skate like that when I was sixteen," Phichit said wistfully.

"I had my growth spurt at sixteen," Yuuri said, wincing internally at the memory. He had lost all balance and sense of movement for months, and not even Minako's constant ballet lessons could make him more at ease in his unfamiliar, flailing body.

Phichit looked at Yuuri. "You had a growth spurt?" he asked.

Yuuri elbowed Phichit in the side. "I'm three inches taller than you!" he hissed.

"Lies." Phichit settled beside Yuuri as if nothing had happened. "Hey, where's Plisetsky going?"

"Medical," Georgi said. At the kiss-and-cry, Yakov was helping Yuuri walk into the arena's back areas. "He's going to make sure Yura didn't break something."

Guang Hong turned to Georgi. "He was moving too well to be hurt bad."

Georgi shrugged. "I've watched that kid skate for years, and I've never seen him go down that hard. Yakov won't take any chances."

On the bench, Otabek leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He said something in Russian, which Georgi replied to in kind. The only words Yuuri could make out were _Yura_ and _unfortunate_.

Phichit nudged Yuuri down the wall a little way away from listening ears. "You know what this means, right?"

Yuuri nodded. "If Yurio is hurt, he's probably out of the exhibition, and he really wanted to perform that piece again."

Phichit's sigh was one of long-suffering. "No. It means you're probably going to win tonight."

Yuuri froze. He had almost forgotten.

"Viktor might still pull ahead of me," Yuuri said. Across the arena, Viktor was readying for his performance, taking off his skate guards. Yakov was nowhere to be seen, but the announcer was calling out Viktor's name. The audience cheered loudly, welcoming figure skating's favourite son back to the ice.

"Are you okay if he does?"

Yuuri stood straighter. "Of course I am," he said as he disentangled from Phichit. "I need to watch this."

Yuuri had seen Viktor practicing his free program for weeks, had seen him perform it at the European Championship, but this was the first time that Yuuri and Viktor had been in serious competition. If Viktor beat Yuuri's score to win gold, he would also set a new world record, twenty minutes after Yuuri had broken his.

Yuuri didn't know what he wanted.

When Viktor stepped onto the ice, the crowd went wild. Yuuri held his breath as Viktor flew around the rink. Yuuri had worried that knowing Viktor, having seen him build his program from the ground up in only twelve weeks, would take away from the mystique of watching him skate. But seeing him on the ice, readying himself for the most important performance of the year, Yuuri fell in love with Viktor all over again.

Viktor's outfit was black, his jacket overlain with fluttering layers of burgundy and maroon and ruby, gold thread in the fabric gleaming in the light. As Viktor moved, Yuuri could think only of fire, of flame and heat. When Viktor traced lazy currents in the air, the gold ring on his right hand sparkled and shone like a star.

Viktor was so perfect that Yuuri ached just watching him.

After tilting his head at the judges, Viktor turned in a tight circle to look directly at Yuuri. Yuuri curled his hands together, lifting them to his mouth. He kissed his ring, knowing Viktor was watching, then pressed both his hands over his heart.

Viktor echoed the motion, a small smile playing on his lips. In an arena with thousands of people, with thousands more watching on television and live feeds, Viktor only had eyes for Yuuri.

"Do it for me," Yuuri whispered in Japanese.

Viktor's smile grew. With one last look at Yuuri, he turned to face the judges, striking his starting pose. Around them, the audience went silent.

The music crashed into the arena. Viktor had returned to the figure skating season without any time to have his music composed like he usually did, so he had needed to pick an existing piece. The first time Yuuri had heard Viktor's choice for his free program, he didn't know how anyone would be able to skate to it.

But months later, Yuuri understood.

 _Danse infernale_ from the Firebird ballet flowed over the ice, pulling Viktor into a frenzy of motion. It was so unexpected, how Viktor moved, a living flame burning on the ice. It was so unlike anything else he had skated, and that was Viktor all over, surprising the world with everything he did.

His every motion on the ice was perfect, graceful… inevitable. Viktor made it look easy, but Yuuri had been there with him for every day of practice, had seen all the frustration and hard work, had come home with him every night to ice the bruises and soak away the aches. Now that Yuuri knew how hard Viktor worked to skate like this, he loved him even more.

Viktor had the music timed to end his skate in a flurry of percussion. Yuuri watched, hands still over his heart, as Viktor stepped into his final spin, so impossibly fast, so impossibly…Viktor.

As the song ended with a crash, Viktor stopped his spin in a spray of ice, arms out, head back, a flame frozen in time.

The crowd went wild.

Yuuri clapped and yelled along with the audience. He had never seen Viktor skate so well. His performance was so much more polished than it had been at Europeans, his timing on point. Yuuri was so proud of Viktor, so _happy_ that Viktor had come back to skating with him.

"That was insane!" Phichit said, hugging Yuuri from behind as Viktor took his final bows and skated over to the boards. "How does he do that?"

"It's Viktor," Yuuri said. His heart was beating nearly as hard as it had been when he had finished his own skate. "He was so good!"

Yakov had reappeared as Viktor stepped off the ice to put on his skate blades. The old man's face was grave as he guided Viktor to the kiss-and-cry.

"Do you think Yura's all right?" Otabek asked, getting up to join Yuuri and Phichit.

"Who cares?" J.J. asked from the sidelines.

Otabek whirled, nearly stepping into Georgi who had also stood. "I do."

"Yura is okay, otherwise Coach would not be out with Viktor," Georgi said, then lapsed into Russian. It took a few moments for Otabek to stop glaring at J.J.

Phichit let out a low whistle. "Fight?"

Yuuri hushed him, the sudden discord making him anxious. "What do you think Viktor's score will be?" he asked, like he had all those times when he and Phichit watched the competition live streams in Detroit.

It took Phichit a moment to pull his attention back to Yuuri. "Technical scores won't be as high as yours," he said. "Most of his jumps were front-loaded."

"But they were perfect."

"So were yours, and you had most of your quads in the back half."

Yuuri kept his eyes on Viktor. "His performance was wonderful."

"So was yours."

"I…" Yuuri let his voice trail off. Now that Viktor had skated, and everything was in the hands of the judges, he didn't know what he wanted.

He had wanted to win, had wanted to get gold to make Viktor proud of him, but that would mean he would beat Viktor. Viktor hadn't been defeated in a competition in _years_ ; what if he resented Yuuri for knocking him off the top of the podium?

The announcer spoke. Viktor looked up, then over at Yuuri. Yuuri pressed his ring to his lips in the space of quiet, in that last moment of the unknown.

Viktor's score was announced, and Phichit's sudden scream was drowned out by the wash of sound from the audience. Yuuri stood still, unable to move, unable to look away from Viktor, as the man's expression went from happiness, to surprise, then back to a rueful grin and a shake of the head as he stood, applauding, in Yuuri's direction.

Viktor had scored 215.62 on his free program. With his short program score, his combined total was slightly under 332, four points behind Yuuri.

Yuuri had just won gold at the World Figure Skating Championship.

* * *

After the medal ceremony, after navigating through the crunch of press and skating officials, Yuuri ducked behind a giant promotional banner. The shuttle to the hotel wasn't coming for a few minutes, and Yuuri didn't want to put off this phone call any longer.

"Hello?"

Yuuri let out a shaky breath. "Hi, mom."

"Yuuri!" his mother exclaimed. "It's Yuuri!"

The sound changed as his mother switched to speakerphone. A chorus of cheers and congratulations streamed over the line, an outpouring of emotion half a world away.

Yuuri closed his eyes on trembling tears. He pressed his free hand to his chest, where his gold medal hung beneath his skating jacket. "You watched the performance?"

"Watched?" Minako's voice was sharp over the hubbub. "It was standing room only in here, Yuuri."

"We all wanted to watch you," Yuuko said. Her next sentence was drowned out by the hyperactive screeching of three six-year-olds. "Girls, no!"

"You blew them out of the water," Nishigori put in. "We knew you could do it."

Yuuri put his hand over his eyes for a moment, feeling warm and exhausted and ecstatic all at once. "It was really hard," he admitted.

"Of course it was hard!" Minako said quickly. "You set a world record!"

"No one's ever scored as high as you!" shouted a triplet.

"You're the best!" yelled another.

"Katsuki Yuuri!" cheered the third.

While Yuuko tried to shush the children, Mari's voice came over the line. "You did great today, little brother."

"Thank you, big sister."

"How's Yurio?" she went on. "That fall looked bad."

"He's going to be all right," Yuuri said. "The doctor said there were no broken ribs. He'll be able to skate again in a week, they think."

The doctor had also said that it was a miracle that Yurio didn't snap his collarbone when he landed, Viktor had related once he heard from Yakov, but Yuuri didn't tell his family that. They would only worry.

"You tell him that we want him to heal quickly," Yuuri's mother said.

"I will." Yuuri took a deep breath, slumping down against the wall. "I called because I wanted to say… I mean, I want you to know…"

"Come on, Yuuri, spit it out," Nishigori said, breaking the tension in Yuuri's chest.

Yuuri smiled. "Thank you, everyone," he said. "For supporting me, and for believing in me. I couldn't have done any of this without your support."

"Oh, Yuuri," his mother said. "Of course we support you. We always knew you could do this, since the first day you stepped out on the ice."

Yuuri had to close his eyes again, swallowing hard against the lump of emotion in his throat. "I know. Thank you."

Something touched Yuuri's shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Viktor looking down at him, concern on his face. Yuuri tried to smile in reassurance as Viktor slid down the wall to put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. Yuuri leaned against Viktor, grateful for his support.

"What are you going to do next?" Nishigori asked.

Yuuri sniffled. "Um, the pairs and women's free program is tomorrow, then the day after that is the exhibition skate."

Yuuko made an exasperated sound. "That's not what he means, Yuuri," she said. "Are you going to keep skating?"

Yuuri didn't answer for a moment. Instead, he turned to look at Viktor. The man was visibly tired, shadows under his eyes. But there was a glow in his eyes, a promise, and that was what Yuuri needed to see.

"Yes," he said. "I do plan to complete competitively next year."

"I knew it!" Minkao interjected. "After that free program, you better keep competing!"

"Katsuki Yuuri!" the triplets shouted again.

Yuuri let out a huffed laugh. "I have to go," he said regretfully. "The bus is going to leave for the hotel soon."

There was a chorus of good-byes, each voice making Yuuri feel loved, even Nishigori's. Yuuri hung up, smiling, and buried his face against Viktor's neck.

"You called home?" Viktor asked, rubbing Yuuri's back.

"They all watched," Yuuri said, his head feeling fuzzy at the switch back to English. "They all watched me skate."

"Of course they did." Viktor's lips tickled against Yuuri's cheek. "Did you think they wouldn't?"

Yuuri breathed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. "Maybe they would have been busy."

"Busy," Viktor repeated. "Ridiculous. Come on, get up. The shuttle will leave soon."

Yuuri let himself be hauled to his feet and manhandled in the direction of the arena gates. They got onto the shuttle to the hotel with little fuss, Viktor lifting Yuuri's bag and his own onto the overhead racks.

As soon as Viktor was seated, Yuuri slumped down beside him, fitting in under Viktor's arm with comfortable ease.

Viktor closed his eyes and let out a very long sigh. "What a day," he murmured.

Yuuri rested his hand on Viktor's stomach, his head resting on Viktor's shoulder. "You were amazing, out there on the ice," he whispered. "I could watch you skate forever."

Viktor stroked a pattern on Yuuri's arm. "You will. I'm never letting you go."

Yuuri hummed as he closed his eyes on the gentle chaos as the shuttle filled up. Yakov had taken Yurio back to the hotel immediately after the medal ceremony, and Phichit was staying in another hotel, so Yuuri could let himself relax against Viktor and not have to think about anyone else for a few minutes. He could just close his eyes. Just for a minute.

He roused when the bus began to move. "Huh?

Viktor kissed his forehead. "We'll be at the hotel in fifteen minutes," he whispered. "Then you can go to sleep."

Yuuri turned so he could see out the window. "I don't want to go to bed," he mumbled. "I want a cheeseburger."

"At this time of night?"

"I'm starving." Yuuri yawned. "Maybe not a cheeseburger. Maybe french-fries."

"You'll bloat with all that salt."

"Okay." Yuuri blinked sleepily out the window as the bus moved into the night. "Boston is pretty."

"Is it?"

"More than Detroit." Yuuri slid his hand over Viktor's stomach to curve around his waist, holding him tight. "Maybe not as much as Paris. Tokyo's nice too."

"I think I like Barcelona," Viktor said. "And Hasetsu."

Yuuri considered. "Those are places you've been with me."

"Are they?" Viktor said in mock surprise. He pressed a soft kiss against Yuuri's ear. "Imagine that."

"Now you're in Boston with me, so you can enjoy that."

Viktor was quiet for a long time, long enough for the shuttle to make its first stop. It wasn't until they were driving over a bridge that Viktor finally said, "I don't know if I will ever like Boston."

"Why not?" Yuuri asked, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids again.

"My father lives here."

Yuuri's eyes snapped open. He sat up and stared at Viktor, wondering if he had heard correctly. "Your father?"

Viktor nodded. He was staring out the window at the lights of the city. "He teaches at Harvard. Russian Revolution history or something."

"Is that nearby?"

Viktor pointed out the window. "Twenty minutes that way."

Yuuri's mind raced. Viktor hadn't mentioned his father in weeks, not since his mother took Yuuri away to the lake and returned him four days later.

Why now?

"Did he come watch you?" Yuuri asked tentatively. "Tonight, or on Wednesday?"

"No."

"But…" Yuuri didn't know what to say. "Didn't he know you were skating?"

Viktor shrugged. "Yakov usually sends him my itinerary for the year. I don't know if he reads the emails."

Yuuri was trying to think of what to say, when he caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. Across the aisle, Leo and Emil were staring, eyes wide as they eavesdropped. Yuuri glared until they both leaned back. Knowing that words would carry in the quiet of the bus, Yuuri settled in against Viktor.

"It doesn't matter," Viktor whispered after a minute's silence. "You were there tonight. That is what matters to me."

That was the last thing Viktor said until they got to the hotel. Disembarking and getting inside was tedious, but finally they were in the elevator and headed up to their floor. The air in the corridors was quiet and still this far into the night.

As Viktor fiddled with the key card, Yuuri tried to stand upright without wavering. He was so tired, he _hurt_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw a flickering shadow that disappeared when he turned his head. That had been happening more and more since Viktor's mother had taken him away to her lake; seeing things that could not be there, like a flicker of shadow late at night, or a reflection of something that was not there.

Yuuri took a deep breath. There was nothing there. Nothing was there, and nothing could hurt him or Viktor.

Finally, Viktor got the door open. He muttered something in Russian as he stepped inside, Yuuri on his heels. The lights turned on to show the hotel room as they had left it earlier that day, before everything changed.

Before Yuuri won gold.

Stepping out of his shoes, Yuuri dragged his roller bag over to the side of the bed before collapsing onto the bed's surface. "I'm going to sleep like this."

"Whatever happened to your cheeseburger?" Viktor asked, peeling off his costume's jacket.

Yuuri opened his eyes, the contact lenses making blinking a conscious thing. "It's past one in the morning, where am I going to get a cheeseburger? Or anything?"

Viktor rolled his eyes. "Yuuri, room service." Viktor finally got the zipper on his unitard unhooked, and with a satisfying _ziiip_ , stepped out of the black cloth. "I called in an order before we left the rink. It should be here soon."

Yuuri looked at Viktor, standing in the middle of the room wearing only his dance belt. His eyebrows went up. "Are you going to get a robe?"

Viktor hooked his thumbs in the dance belt band. "Why would I do that?"

"Because hotel night staff see enough crap without having to deal with naked Russians," Yuuri said, sitting up.

Viktor tossed his dance belt towards the bed. Yuuri scrambled back to avoid touching it. "Maybe you're right." He turned to pick up his robe, giving Yuuri a clear view of his naked butt.

Yuuri rolled off the bed, yawning mightily as he stumbled towards the bathroom. "Did you move my glasses?" he called out once he had flicked on the smaller room's light.

"You left them by the television." A knock sounded on the door, and from the lack of outcry when the door was opened, Yuuri guessed that Viktor had belted his robe.

"Fine." Moving slower than usual, pulled on by sleep and exhaustion, Yuuri washed his hands before removing his contact lenses. He blinked at his reflection, fuzzy around the edges. He didn't look any different than he had that morning. He was still… him.

Well, almost. Yuuri unzipped his jacket. His gold medal hung around his neck, a solid reminder that Yuuri hadn't been dreaming. Yuuri looked at the medal, wondering at the glint of the gold in the bathroom light, until Viktor called him out to eat.

"No cheeseburger," Yuuri observed as he collapsed onto a chair at the little table.

"No." Viktor pushed a plate with an omelette and hash browns in front of Yuuri. "We have the exhibition skate in a day and a half, you can have a cheeseburger at the banquet."

Yuuri made a face. "Overcooked fish and rubber chicken," he grumbled, picking up his fork. "Why do you get salmon?"

Viktor paused mid-chew. "Do you want some?" he asked with a full mouth.

Yuuri put a forkful of omelette into his mouth. It was fine, if a little bland. He shook his head as he reached for the pepper.

"What time do you want to get up tomorrow?" Viktor asked, suddenly chatty now that he had some food in his belly. "I talked to Chris, he wants to go for brunch before the pairs' skate."

"Is there any press tomorrow?" Yuuri asked. The eggs were good, but the hash browns tasted as if they had been cooked in old oil. He pushed them aside.

"Some," Viktor agreed. "Wear your jacket and those black pants with the blue in them."

Yuuri sat back. "You want me to wear yoga pants to the arena?"

Viktor winked. "You don't want people to see the ass that broke two world records?"

Just for that, Yuuri stole a forkful of salmon. "You have terrible ideas."

"They are wonderful." Viktor shoveled the rest of the food on his plate into his mouth, then reached for Yuuri's plate. "Are you going to shower?"

"Yeah, I should." Yuuri rubbed his eyes. "Can we get our costumes dry-cleaned before we fly back to Russia?"

"Let me worry about the dry-cleaning," Viktor said, pulling Yuuri to his feet. "Just one thing first."

Yuuri opened his eyes, expecting a kiss. What he was not expecting was for Viktor to lift the gold meal off from around his neck.

"We don't want this to get wet," Viktor said, moving across the room with the medal.

Something in Viktor's expression as he looked at the gold medal made Yuuri's stomach churn, spilling a frisson of anxiety through his limbs. Viktor's expression was pensive, almost sad, as he ran a gentle fingertip around the disc's edge.

All the calm Yuuri had managed to find in the last hour was gone in looking at Viktor's face. What if Viktor really wasn't okay with Yuuri beating him out for gold? And it wasn't just the gold; Yuuri had destroyed Viktor's last world record that day, in direct competition with him on the ice.

Would Viktor start to look at Yuuri differently? Would he want to stop coaching Yuuri?

As Yuuri stood in the bathroom doorway and tried not to suffocate under the sudden panic, Viktor carefully laid the medal on the dresser, folding the ribbon up behind it. With one last sad smile at the medal, Viktor turned around and frowned. "Yuuri?"

Yuuri escaped into the bathroom, banging the door closed behind him. _It wasn't like that_ , Yuuri told himself in a panic. _Viktor doesn't blame me. Viktor won't leave._

His fingers shook as he stepped out of his costume. The thin fabric stank of stale sweat, and Yuuri suddenly, violently, wanted to be clean.

He pulled off his dance belt and threw it into the sink with a bit of soap, filling the sink to let the thing soak. Then he was getting into the shower, turning the faucet to pour warm water over his body. He needed to get clean, then he could go to bed and stop thinking about this.

Of course, Yuuri's mind was never able to let anything go, least of all his worries about Viktor. As Yuuri scrubbed soap over his skin, he couldn't shake that memory of Viktor's face. Would Yuuri's win come between them? Would Viktor come to resent Yuuri?

Yuuri put down the bar of hotel soap and stood with his back under the shower spray. There wasn't anything else Yuuri could have done. He had been training for this day for most of his life, to skate his very best at Worlds. With Viktor's choreography, with Viktor's coaching…. And yes, Viktor's love, Yuuri had skated his very best. He had been better than Viktor on the ice.

But would he lose Viktor because of it?

Yuuri angrily wiped water off his face. There wasn't anything else Yuuri could have done. He could not, _would_ not, have given anything less than everything out on the ice.

They would have to get through it. Yuuri had worked too hard for too long to let the ice, or Viktor, slip through his fingers now.

Yuuri wiped his cheeks again. When he was a child, he had fantasized about winning a gold medal at Worlds. He had always imagined it would be the best night of his entire life.

Now that he had accomplished his dream, he was crying in the shower.

 _Enough_. Yuuri shook his head. He was too tired to be thinking clearly. He had to get out of the shower, and face Viktor for long enough to get into bed. That at least, he could do.

Turning off the spray, Yuuri dragged himself out onto the mat. He dried off, then wrapped the towel around his hips while he gave his dance belt a solid scrub. The last thing he needed was for his undergarments to smell funky during the exhibition skate on Sunday.

After wringing the belt out and placing it over the towel rack to dry, Yuuri scooped up his costume. He had no reason left to linger in the bathroom.

 _Just go out there and go to bed,_ Yuuri told himself. _It's nearly two in the morning. You're tired._

Steeling himself, Yuuri opened the door.

Viktor was sitting on the bed, tapping at his phone. He looked up when Yuuri stepped across the carpet, but didn't say anything.

Yuuri draped his costume over the back of a chair. "I'm done," he said unnecessarily. "I think I'll go to bed."

Still Viktor said nothing.

"You can go shower if you want." Yuuri turned his back to Viktor to rummage through his suitcase for his sleep pants. "I'll be here."

A faint whisper of fabric warned Yuuri that Viktor was moving, but he still nearly jumped when Viktor put his hands on Yuuri's waist.

"I love you," Viktor murmured, pressing a soft kiss behind Yuuri's ear. " Я люблю тебя всей душой."

Yuuri knew enough Russian to know Viktor had said something about love, and it made his heart hurt. He didn't want this to be the beginning of the end for them.

Viktor kissed the shell of Yuuri's ear, his hair, the back of his neck. In response, Yuuri pushed back against Viktor, feeling the solidity in his hands, in his body.

"I'm going to be out of the shower in just a few minutes," Viktor whispered. "Then we can go to bed."

"Okay."

Slowly, Viktor stepped away from Yuuri. Yuuri kept staring down at his suitcase until he heard the bathroom door close. Only then did he grab his sleep pants and carry them over to the bed.

He was so tired.

In the bathroom, the water turned on. Yuuri unwound the towel around his body, draping it over another chair, then stepped into the worn-soft pants. He shuffled over to the door to turn off the overhead light, then shuffled back to the bed in the darkness. The soft mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled beneath the covers.

Maybe he was being stupid. Maybe Viktor really was fine with everything, like he'd said.

Or maybe that look on Viktor's face had been his true feelings, after all.

Yuuri pressed his face against the pillow. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. All he knew was that he was so fucking _tired_.

The shower turned off, far too soon. Rolling onto his side, Yuuri put his hand over his eyes. Maybe he would pretend to be asleep. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

The bathroom door opened, shining light into the dark room for a brief moment before the light was extinguished. There was a brief shuffling over the carpet, then Viktor was climbing into bed and curling up behind Yuuri.

Yuuri lay still, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in the back of his throat. He didn't want to know how Viktor was really feeling. He didn't want to know if Viktor resented him… but how could he not know?

"Yuuri," Viktor said, the soft flow of the word a caress over Yuuri's skin. Yuuri took his hand away from his face. In the darkness of the room, nothing seemed real. "My beautiful Yuuri."

Yuuri blinked in the darkness, words stuck in his throat.

Viktor put his arm over Yuuri's hip. "I want to tell you something," he said. "Something about me. Something I have never told any one before."

Yuuri braced himself, for what he wasn't sure. "Okay."

Viktor breathed against the Yuuri's skin, the warm air tickling the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "I think it is because of my mother, what she… is." He slid his hand up Yuuri's chest. "I can hear people's hearts beating."

Yuuri blinked. That had been the last thing he had excepted. "Why?" he asked stupidly.

"I have no idea." Viktor cuddled closer to Yuuri. He was so warm, the embrace was like sinking into the onsen back home. "But I can. And right now, I can hear your heart beating so fast."

Oh.

"What's wrong?" Viktor asked, stroking patterns over Yuuri's bare chest. "Are you worried about Yurio?"

That was such a non sequitur that Yuuri rolled onto his back. "Should I be?" he asked sharply.

"No." Viktor closed the distance between them, sliding into the space at Yuuri's side, his arm going over Yuuri's chest. Yuuri automatically put his arm around Viktor's shoulders to draw him close. "Yakov will keep a very close eye on him, and he will see the doctors tomorrow."

"Good." Yuuri's free hand drifted up to cover Viktor's. "I hope he's okay soon."

"He will be." Viktor hooked his ankle around Yuuri's, settling in. "What worries you?"

Yuuri blinked up at the ceiling. "I'm fine."

"Yuuri."

Yuuri exhaled. Maybe it was best they had this conversation now, get things out into the air as soon as possible. "I…"

Viktor waited.

"I saw how you were looking at my medal," Yuuri said in a rush. His insides cramped with anxiety. He wanted to curl into a ball and hide under a blanket far away from Viktor. "You looked sad."

Viktor breathed out. "There were many thoughts in my head," he said slowly.

Yuuri slid his fingers through Viktor's, the press of Viktor's ring warm against his finger.

"I remembered all the times that I won gold at Worlds," Viktor said. "And I remembered that all those times, I would come back to an empty hotel room and have no one to share my accomplishments with."

"Oh."

Viktor kissed Yuuri's neck. "If I looked sad, it was for all those times I was alone." He kissed Yuuri's neck again, a soft press of lips, a flick of a warm tongue over Yuuri's skin. "Now, I have you."

The tension in Yuuri's limbs dissolved, leaving him limp and shivering. "I thought you were mad at me," he blurted out. "I thought you were mad that I'd won and you didn't."

"What?" Viktor sat up, a dark shape against the blackness of the room. "Yuuri, no! Never!"

Yuuri sat up as well, reaching for Viktor. The other man pulled Yuuri into his lap, his arms going around Yuuri's body in a tight embrace. "It's just that it's the first time I've ever beaten you on the ice, it's been so long since anyone has, I didn't know if you'd be mad." He pressed his cheek against Viktor's neck, nearly sick with relief.

"I could never be mad," Viktor said, one hand cupping the back of Yuuri's head while the other rubbed circles on Yuuri's back. "Not at you. Not at anyone, but certainly not at you."

"I beat your world record," Yuuri said, voice muffled. He clung to Viktor. "I beat you to the gold. It's been years since anyone did that."

Viktor held Yuuri tight. "You beat my free program record at the Grand Prix Final," he pointed out. His voice was warm and low, vibrating down Yuuri's body. "Yurio beat my short program record too. It happens to everyone. It'll happen to you one day, too, someone will beat the records you set today. And then someone will beat those records. It happens in every sport, all the time."

"You're not mad." This time, however, Yuuri wasn't asking a question.

"Not even a little." Viktor kissed Yuuri's cheek. "If anyone was going to break my records, I am glad that it is you. You are astonishing, in every thing that you do, Yuuri."

"You too," Yuuri said earnestly. "The way you skated today, it was amazing, I felt like I was flying when I was watching you." He sat back, unable to see Viktor in the darkness. "You always surprise me."

"You surprise me too." Viktor's fingers moved carefully to Yuuri's chin. Yuuri held still, delightful chills running down his spine as he waited for what Viktor was going to do next.

Viktor did not disappoint. His lips touched Yuuri's and Yuuri melted into the kiss, his lips parting, inviting Viktor in. It was like the best sort of dream; in the dark warmth of the room, in Viktor's arms, Viktor's tongue warm and soft against Yuuri's.

Yuuri kissed Viktor like Viktor was his entire world. This was all Yuuri wanted; Viktor's kiss, Viktor's arms around him, Viktor with him forever.

 After an eternity, Viktor broke the kiss, leaving Yuuri panting for breath. "Oh, my Yuuri," Viktor breathed, his hands sliding down Yuuri's back. "My beautiful love."

Yuuri sighed in contentment. "Can we sleep now?" he asked, feeling wrung-out and bruised from his conflicting emotions in the last hours. "It's so late."

"As you wish." Viktor hugged Yuuri for a long moment, then slowly disentangled to let them both lay down. Yuuri lay on his side again, Viktor curling up behind him. "I love you, Yuuri."

Yuuri snuggled into Viktor's embrace. "I love you too."

The room settled into a soft silence, broken only by the faint sound of Viktor's breathing.

Yuuri was almost asleep when a thought dragged his eyes open. "Viktor?"

Viktor made a sleepy noise.

"You said you can hear my heart beating."

"Da."

"What does it sound like?"

Viktor tightened his arm around Yuuri's waist. "Like a heart beat," he said, sleep slurring his words. "But it's _your_ heart beat. I like it."

"Oh. Good."

Viktor leaned in to kiss Yuuri's hair. He muttered something indistinct in Russian, then lapsed into silence once more.

Yuuri smiled into the darkness. "Good night," he said, then closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music for Viktor’s free skate: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wZFdbg7d9U>
> 
> Trivia: a dance belt is the dance and figure skating equivalent of a jock strap. It can get pretty funky if not properly cleaned
> 
> Я люблю тебя всей душой: I love you with all my soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can hover over the Russian words for the English translation.

* * *

Yuuri woke with a sneeze.

He sneezed again, then sat up. The hotel room was bright, the curtains pulled back on a sunny morning.

There was no sign of Viktor.

"Viktor?" Yuuri called. No response. Yawning as he lay back down, Yuuri reached for his phone. Amid the dozens of congratulatory messages was a text from Viktor, sent half an hour before. _If you wake up,_ _I am getting coffee, be back soon._ This was followed by a dozen kiss emojis.

Yuuri smiled at his phone. It was nice of Viktor not to wake him up. He was still tired after their incredibly long and exhausting day. But, there was no going back to sleep now – they were meeting Chris for brunch before going to watch the pairs and women's free programs.

He sent a kiss back to Viktor, then put his phone down and stretched. His body ached, but it was the good ache of a hard skate. He hadn't turned an ankle or hit the ice hard, always a risk. Given a few more nights of sleep, he would be as good as new.

Thinking about injuries reminded him of Yurio. He picked up his phone again and scrolled through his messages, but there was nothing from the boy. Yuuri quickly checked Yurio's social media channels, but nothing had been posted since before the men's free program.

Yuuri hoped the boy was going to be okay. Not physically; he knew that Yakov would make sure that Yurio received the best medical care, but emotionally… Yurio had wanted to win so badly, even more so after Viktor had won the gold at the European Championships. Yurio had been practising so hard, throwing everything he had into being the best.

That might have been why he had messed up his jump so badly.

Yuuri opened up a new text message to Yurio. _I hope you're doing ok today. Viktor and me are going to be at the arena at noon if you want to come hang out with us._

After he hit send, Yuuri stood, wincing at the pull of sore muscles. He shuffled into the bathroom, stepping out of his sweatpants to get into the shower. The tepid water woke him up fully in a matter of moments, but he resisted the urge to crank the hot water. He didn't want a hot shower; he wanted a good soak, like Viktor's large bathtub, or the hot springs back home.

Yuuri took a moment to fantasize about Hasetsu. The cherry trees would just be starting to blossom in the city and surrounding countryside. There would be festivals and celebrations, and business would be booming at Yu-topia.

Last year, Yuuri had returned home a week too late for the festivities. He hadn't wanted to celebrate, then. He had felt his disgrace, his failure as a figure skater, even if no one else called him out on it. All he had wanted to do was to curl up and be sad.

But he hadn't. He had gone back to Ice Castle where it all started, and skated Viktor's gold-medal-winning program for Yuuko, and the triplets had recorded it, and Viktor had seen it and flown to Japan with his dog and half his possessions.

A year later, with Viktor's support and assistance and occasional brow-beating, Yuuri had clawed his way to the top of the figure skating world.

Yuuri ducked his head under the shower spray. He wasn't sure he was ready to celebrate, but he did want to thank Viktor for everything Viktor had done for him. He wanted to take Viktor back to Hasetsu, show him the cherry blossoms, and hold his hand as they walked along the beach.

But it was more than just Viktor. Yuuri wanted to see his family, to eat his mother's katsudon, to sleep in his old room for another night. He wanted to see everyone and show them his gold medal and thank them for all their support.

Just for a little while, Yuuri wanted to go home.

 _Home._ Yuuri wiped water out of his eyes before turning off the shower. What was home? When he was in Detroit, he hadn't thought of the city as his home. Even with Phichit there, the city felt like another stop on the road, just another venue to skate at. Hasetsu had always been his home.

Then, he had gone to St. Petersburg with Viktor. Even though the city was old and settled, it didn't feel like home. The only time Yuuri got a sense of _home_ was when he was with Viktor, at their apartment with Makkachin, or at the rink skating.

Yuuri stepped out of the shower, groping for a towel. Maybe the reason he still thought of Hasetsu as _home_ was the last time he was there, he was with Viktor.

He wondered where _home_ was to Viktor.

Yuuri quickly shaved, then went back into the bedroom. Viktor still had not returned.

Yuuri picked up his glasses from the bedside table and meandered over to the window to look out on Boston for a few minutes. It was old, for an American city, but it didn't have the weight of ages that Yuuri felt in St. Petersburg. And even there, for all the height of the buildings, St. Petersburg felt new compared with Hasetsu. The old castle had been built in the late 1500s, but people had lived in the area for thousands and thousands of years before that.

Yuuri knew that he and Viktor had plane tickets booked to fly to Russia three days after the exhibition skate, but he ached to go back to Japan.

Idly scratching the faint white scars on his arm, Yuuri turned away from the window. The sunlight coming in glinted off the gold medal on the dresser. He picked it up and carried it back to the bed to look at the details. It almost didn't seem real, the idea that he had earned this. He had spent so long working so hard with nothing to show for it…. And now, gold.

Feeling a little ridiculous, Yuuri draped the ribbon around his neck, the weight of the medal hanging against his chest. This medal was his. He had earned it.

So what was he going to do with it?

Yuuri lay down to examine the gleaming gold. He knew some skaters had their awards mounted at home, but Viktor didn't. All Viktor's medals and awards were either in the bank vault or on display at the arena. Yuuri wouldn't feel comfortable hanging his medals at the arena; for all that he had trained there with Viktor, it wasn't _his_ rink. And if Viktor didn't want to hang any awards at home, then Yuuri wouldn't either.

Maybe he could give it to his parents, he mused, turning the medal to catch the sunlight. Maybe his parents would like to hang it up beside the small figure skating trophies Yuuri had won as a child.

The room's door clicked and started to swing open. Yuuri grabbed at the sheet and pulled it up to his chin, his cheeks burning with mortification that Viktor might see him in bed with the medal around his neck.

Viktor poked his head into the room, grinning when he saw Yuuri. "You're awake," he said, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. Viktor was perfect in dress pants and a button-down shirt, while Yuuri was wearing ratty sweatpants and a World Championship gold medal as he hid under a sheet in embarrassment. "Do you want coffee?"

"No," Yuuri said, not moving as Viktor held up his coffee cup.

"It's not bad," Viktor said as he bolted the door. "Americans can't make coffee, but this isn't too terrible. Chris told me there's a café down the street from the hotel that makes an espresso that is passable."

"Okay," Yuuri said, then, because his brain had stopped functioning with all the blood in his body rushed to his face, "You should go get it."

"No, that's no fun." Viktor took a sip of his coffee. "I don't like going to cafés alone. Why are you still in bed?"

"I'm tired."

Viktor set down his cup. "We don't have to leave for brunch for another hour, if you want to sleep some more."

Yuuri held still. The medal was starting to warm up against his skin, a reminder of how silly he was being. "Okay."

Viktor frowned at him. "What is wrong? Why are you lying like that?"

Yuuri knew there was no way he was going to get out of this without Viktor seeing him. With a sigh, Yuuri flipped the sheet back. He knew he must look ridiculous, gold medal on his bare chest and faded sweatpants, but there was no escaping it. Maybe Viktor would just make fun of him and then drop it.

As Yuuri pushed back the sheet, Viktor's face went blank. "Oh," he said in a tone Yuuri hadn't heard before.

"I was just looking at it." Yuuri's cheeks were so hot he thought he might burst into flames.

"Oh," Viktor said again, then he was moving across the room and climbing into the bed, straddling Yuuri's hips in a graceful motion.

"Viktor—" Yuuri started to say, but was interrupted as Viktor kissed him. Viktor tasted like coffee and sunshine, and as his tongue slipped into Yuuri's mouth, all thoughts of embarrassment were driven out of Yuuri's mind by pure desire.

Viktor pressed Yuuri flat against the mattress, his fingers tangling in Yuuri's still-damp hair. Yuuri clutched at Viktor's arms, his neck, anything to keep him close.

After an eternity, Viktor lifted his head. "Oh, Yuuri," he whispered, gently lifting Yuuri's glasses off his face to put them to the side. "Were you waiting for me like this?"

"What?" Yuuri squeaked. "No! I was just…" He put his hand over his eyes, the embarrassment returning. "I was looking at it, and I didn't want you to see me being so foolish."

"It's not," Viktor said, peppering light kisses all over Yuuri's face. Yuuri started to laugh. "It's amazing, how you look."

"I look foolish," Yuuri said again, trying half-heartedly to bat away Viktor's kisses.

"You look amazing," Viktor repeated, sitting up, fingers going to the buttons on his shirt. "And I need to properly congratulate you for your win."

"What?" Yuuri asked, wondering how things had started to move so fast. "Viktor, no, you don't need to congratulate me."

"Yes, I do." Viktor pulled his shirt off over his head, then bent back down to kiss Yuuri again. This kiss was slow and deep and took Yuuri's breath away. When Viktor pulled back this time, Yuuri's entire body was tingling. "Let me show you."

"Okay," Yuuri said, because after a kiss like that, Viktor could do anything he wanted to Yuuri.

Viktor smiled at him; a soft, happy smile. "My beautiful Yuuri," he whispered.

Yuuri wasn't so sure about the beautiful part, but Viktor was right about one thing. "I am yours," he said quietly, reaching up to touch Viktor's lips. "Always."

Viktor kissed Yuuri's fingers. "Always."

Then Viktor shifted down, kissing Yuuri's jaw, his neck, the spot just under his ear that always made him moan. Yuuri closed his eyes and sank into the sensations of Viktor's mouth on his body, Viktor's weight holding him down. Viktor ran his hands over every inch of Yuuri's skin he could reach, stroking, teasing. By the time Viktor's lips touched the medal, Yuuri was panting as hard as if he had just finished skating his short program.

"I knew you could do this," Viktor murmured. "From the first time I saw you in that video, I knew you could be the best."

Yuuri went up on one elbow. "I could only do it with you," he replied, reaching out with his right hand to cup Viktor's cheek. The sunlight through the windows glinted off his gold ring. "You make me better."

Viktor kissed Yuuri's palm. "You make me better too."

Yuuri smiled, suddenly giddy. "Can I take the medal off now?"

Viktor pushed Yuuri flat onto his back. "Absolutely not," he said, then sat up to pull Yuuri's sweatpants off in one fluid motion. Yuuri protested, but kicked at the fabric until his feet were free.

Once Yuuri was naked, Viktor took hold of his knees and pushed his legs open before ducking back down to kiss Yuuri's stomach. The sight of Viktor between his legs, the man's silver hair falling onto Yuuri's skin, sent a thrill of lust through Yuuri's limbs.

"Like that," Yuuri gasped. When Viktor looked up, his tongue licking a line towards Yuuri's hipbone, Yuuri propped himself up on his elbows. "I want you to suck me off like that."

Viktor took hold of Yuuri's already-hard cock and stroked him, the foreskin moving back to reveal the flushed head. "Like this?" Viktor asked, then ran his tongue around the tip of Yuuri's cock before sinking down, swallowing Yuuri all the way.

Yuuri let out a broken moan, but didn't take his eyes off Viktor. The sensation of Viktor's mouth surrounding him was all he could think about, the way the man's tongue moved against the underside of his cock, how Viktor's hands gripped his hips in place. Then Viktor was pulling off, licking along the shaft and the head, before sliding back down again.

"Fuck," Yuuri breathed. Normally, when Viktor went down on Yuuri, he used his hands on Yuuri's cock as well as his mouth, but this time, he was holding Yuuri still, keeping him where Viktor wanted him.

Watching Viktor take him all in was the hottest thing Yuuri had ever seen.

Viktor pulled back again, coming off Yuuri with a gasp. "Do you like that?" Viktor asked, breathing hard. He kissed the tip of Yuuri's cock. "Do you like watching me?"

"Yes," Yuuri breathed. He balled his hands up in the sheet to keep from reaching for Viktor. "Just like that, _please_."

Viktor smiled, soft and warm, before bending back to take Yuuri's cock between his lips.

Yuuri let the sensations overwhelm him, carry him away. After a minute, he fell onto his back, putting his hands under his head so he didn't accidentally grab for Viktor. That was the only thing Viktor had ever asked Yuuri to not do when they were in bed; grab his hair while he was sucking Yuuri off. He'd made it a joke, for fear of thinning his hair prematurely, and Yuuri hadn't known what to say other than, _of course._

On occasion, Yuuri would touch Viktor's face when they were doing this, but something about what Viktor was doing that morning pulled Yuuri in deeper than usual. Maybe it was how Viktor kept looking up at Yuuri, how he held Yuuri's hips still, how he kept going, taking Yuuri further down. Pleasure flowed like fire in his veins as he gasped, unable to keep his hips from bucking up, but Viktor held him down.

"Viktor, please," Yuuri cried, taking hold of the pillow above his head. "Viktor, _Viktor_ …"

Viktor pulled back, running his tongue around the head of Yuuri's cock and finally letting go of Yuuri's hip to take a firm grip on Yuuri's shaft, stroking hard. Yuuri dissolved, body arching as he came, before falling back onto the mattress.

Everything was shimmering in a light haze of warmth. Yuuri lay still, breathing hard, basking in the afterglow. Every part of him felt soft and swimming, like he was sinking in the hot springs.

It was perfect.

The mattress moved as Viktor settled down at Yuuri's side, one arm going over Yuuri's chest. Yuuri summoned the strength to put his arm around Viktor's shoulders. "Oh."

Viktor kissed the dip in his throat. "Oh, indeed."

Yuuri tried to say something else, but he drifted for a few minutes, Viktor's weight solid at his side, Viktor's hand sliding over his chest.

After a while, something beeped. Yuuri opened his eyes as Viktor shifted around to pull out his phone. "Chris," Viktor said, lying down again. He propped his phone against Yuuri's stomach to tap out a response. "He's running late. He'll meet us for brunch in another hour."

Yuuri blinked at the ceiling. "An hour?"

"Yes." Viktor put his phone away. "What do you think we can get up to in an hour?"

Yuuri took a deep breath, willing himself awake. "I can think of something."

Viktor propped himself up on his elbow so he could smile down at Yuuri. "What?"

Yuuri rolled, flipping Viktor onto his back. The motion sent the medal flying, nearly bashing into Viktor's chin.

"This is coming off," Yuuri muttered, pausing long enough to yank the ribbon over his head before pushing the medal off the bed.

"Yuuri!" Viktor protested. "You'll scratch it!"

"So?" Yuuri was busy undoing Viktor's trousers, a feat made slightly difficult by the bulge in Viktor's underwear. "It's my medal, I can scratch it if I want to."

"Only if it's in a good cause," Viktor said, then gasped as Yuuri took hold of his length. "What are you going to do to me, Yuuri?"

Yuuri paused as he was shifting his weight down the bed, to raise an eyebrow at Viktor. "Some of this, some of that."

Viktor's eyes sparkled. "And what is 'this'?"

Yuuri moved his hand up and down, squeezing just hard enough for make Viktor swear in Russian.

"And what about 'that'?" Viktor asked when his eyes uncrossed.

In answer, Yuuri put his lips around the head of Viktor's cock, revelling in the exclamation that came out of the other man's mouth.

When he pulled back, he said, "You're going to want to hold on to something, you've been giving me ideas."

Then he dipped back down, Viktor's cock sliding over his tongue and right to the back of his throat in one solid motion. Viktor's hips snapped up, his fingers tangling in Yuuri's hair, and Yuuri let all thoughts slide away as Viktor thrust up gently into his mouth.

This was the only place Yuuri ever wanted to be.

* * *

They were late to brunch with Chris.

The Swiss man watched them as Viktor and Yuuri made their way across the dining room to join him at a table. He waited until they were seated before saying, "Well, well, what time is this?"

" _Bonjour_ , Chris," Viktor said, flicking his napkin out onto his knee. "How are you?"

"Oh, quite good," said Chris. The man shifted his amused gaze to Yuuri. "And you, our new champion?"

Yuuri sat on the edge of his chair, rubbing nervously at the red mark left on his chin by the press of Viktor's trousers zipper. "I'm fine," he said, then coughed when the words came out a little rough.

Chris's smile grew sharp. He said something in French to Viktor, who glared and spoke back in kind.

Yuuri looked between the men, trying to figure out what was being said, then stood up. "I'm hungry," he announced, before taking himself over to the buffet tables.

Now that the competition was over, Yuuri was starving. He heaped his plate high, avoiding the cheese that Americans put on everything, then got a cup of tea and carried his handfuls back over to the table where Viktor and Chris were still engaged in an incomprehensible conversation.

Yuuri began eating, ignoring the French words flying over the table. He was hungry and the food was good, and Yuuri didn't have to worry about doing anything at all until the next day's exhibition skate.

" _Tu es fou_ ," Viktor finally spat out, standing. He absently touched Yuuri's arm as he stormed over to the buffet.

Chris sat back, watching Viktor go. Yuuri looked at Chris while he chewed on a piece of toast. "What does _fou_ mean?" Yuuri asked.

Finally, Chris turned to Yuuri. It took him a moment, before he blinked and seemed to settle into being Chris again. "It means crazy." He reached for his coffee cup. "Viktor thinks I am crazy."

Yuuri considered this, then shrugged.

"Do _you_ think I am crazy?"

"Sure, but probably not for the same reasons Viktor does."

Chris's shout of laughter filled the dining room. "Oh, Yuuri, you are a delight," he said.

Yuuri scooped up some eggs. "Why does Viktor think you're crazy?"

"No reason," Chris said. His gaze drifted over to where Viktor was piling something onto his plate. "I told him I am thinking of retiring."

Yuuri's hand paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "I thought your arm was getting better," he said, carefully putting his loaded fork back on his plate.

"It is." Chris gestured to his left arm, still in the sling. "The cast should come off next week."

"The season just ended, you can get back to up full training by the qualifying rounds of the Grand Prix in the fall."

Chris reached for his cup.

"No, really, you're in perfect shape," Yuuri protested. "Look at me, last year this time I was a total wreck, and I still managed to qualify for the Grand Prix."

Chris gave Yuuri a not-entirely-friendly glare as he lifted his cup. "You, a wreck?"

What was that phrase he'd heard from one of his rinkmates in Detroit? "I was a human dumpster fire, Chris."

Chris nearly spat coffee all over the table.

"I was!" Yuuri protested. "I'd gained weight, my leg extension had gone to shit, I was a walking disaster."

"Idiocy," Chris muttered, coughing a little as he set his cup down. "I saw that video of you skating to Viktor's program."

"Then you saw how terrible I was." Yuuri looked up as Viktor reappeared at the table. "Viktor, tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"What bad shape I was in when you showed up at Yu-Topia."

Viktor frowned at Yuuri, obviously confused, but said, "He was truly terrible, Chris. As chubby and uncoordinated as a little piggy."

Yuuri sat back, stung by how quick Viktor had been to agree with him.

"And that's what made you fall in love," Chris was saying to Viktor.

"As a matter of fact, no," Viktor replied. He settled down in his chair. "It was because after a truly awkward couple of days, he treated me like a person." Viktor shoved an apple slice in his mouth.

Chris deflated slightly. "I treat you like a person," he muttered.

"I know you do." Viktor's words were half-garbled, but Yuuri could understand him. "And I am trying to return the favour."

Yuuri picked up his fork again. "You don't have to decide now," he said. "Once the cast comes off and you get back into the ice, you can decide then."

"As long as you get back on the ice," Viktor added. "And soon."

"Don't wait too long or you'll be too old to get back on top of your game," Yuuri added.

He had meant it as a joke, a bit of banter playing off Viktor's statement, but the words fell flat and awkward onto the table. Viktor stared down at his plate, pushing eggs around with the tip of his knife. Chris cleared his throat and stood up. "I'm going to get more pastry," he said, and vanished towards the buffet.

Yuuri's overly ambitious breakfast churned in his stomach. He hadn't meant anything by what he had said; Chris was only a year and a half older than Yuuri, and there had been a few skaters who had come back from injury at twenty-five.

But it was rare. All figure skaters knew that once they hit their twenties, the clock was ticking on their careers. Viktor was, as always, the biggest exception to this rule. Yuuri had never doubted that Viktor would have made a spectacular return to figure skating at the age of twenty-nine. And he had, too, rocketing back to gold at the Russian Nationals and Europeans.

Viktor still hadn't looked up from his plate. Yuuri wanted to say something, to say he hadn't been talking about Viktor; how he hadn't really meant it… Just like Viktor probably hadn't meant that _little piggy_ comment to Chris a minute earlier.

Yuuri's phone pinged. Grateful for the distraction, Yuuri pulled the phone from his pocket.

"Are you expecting to meet up with Phichit?" Viktor asked, voice low.

"No, Phichit is out sightseeing with Leo and Guang Hong today," Yuuri said automatically, tapping in his unlock code. "Leo's never been to Boston and he wanted to check things out." He finally got his phone open, and looked at the messages. There was one from Yurio, in Russian. Yuuri frowned. He didn't recognize the words.

"Bad news?"

"No, I texted Yurio this morning about if he wanted to come hang out with us today." Yuuri held his phone out to Viktor. "What does that say?"

Viktor looked at the screen, and his expression darkened to a frown. "That is something said by a very rude and nasty little boy."

Yuuri's heart sank. "He's probably feeling pretty bad, then."

"That's not an excuse to say such things."

Yuuri, noting that Viktor still hadn't translated the message, shook his head. "I'll tell him where we'll be sitting at the rink, if he wants to join us."

"Why are you like this?" Viktor asked, and that was strange enough that Yuuri looked up from typing his message.

"Like what?"

"Nice to him when he is so rude to you?"

Yuuri shrugged, going back to his message. _We have good seats if you can come to the arena and sit with us. I hope you are feeling better this morning._ After hitting send, he put his phone down. "I understand doing really bad when you want to do well."

"You're nice to him even when he does well and is still rude to you."

Yuuri picked up his teacup. "I think it must take a lot of energy, to be angry all the time. It doesn't bother me."

He couldn't explain why he considered Yurio a friend. He just did. A lot of it was probably the time they had spent training together, but Yuuri honestly liked Yurio. When he wasn't being actively abrasive and rude, he was funny and sarcastic and smart. Even when Yurio was rude, Yuuri never felt any active animosity from the younger boy.

Once, in Hasetu, Yuuri's mother had observed that Yurio acted as if he had grown up with wild dogs and never learned how to be nice around people, but at least he was trying.

Now, however, Yuuri wondered how badly Yurio had been hurt from his fall the day before.

"Have you heard anything else from Yakov?" Yuuri asked. "About Yurio."

Viktor mashed his eggs against the plate. "I called him when I was getting coffee. He thinks Yurio should be fine, but he has to focus on Mila, she's skating this afternoon."

Chris returned with a plate of pastries and fruit. "Ah, your fellow skater, she is now third?" he asked as he sat down.

"Yes," Yuuri said, relieved to go back to a safe topic. He would translate Yurio's message later on. "There's another Russian women's skater from Moscow, but she's at ninth after the short program."

"Do you cheer them on all the same?" Chris asked, looked at Viktor with curiosity. "These skaters who train across the country from you?"

"Of course." Viktor tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes. "Even if they do train in an inferior club."

Chris cracked a smile. "And you?" He turned to Yuuri. "Cheering on any of Japan's skaters?"

"Of course." Yuuri didn't know any of the female skaters representing Japan; they all trained in Japan and were all under twenty, too young to have been part of Yuuri's early days training in Japan. "Two of them are skating this afternoon, the other one didn't make the cut after the short program."

"Going to watch the pairs?" Chris asked, ripping open a croissant.

"We are," Viktor replied. "Russia has many entrants, even if the French always win."

"I didn't get a ticket for that this year," Chris said. "But I will be at the gala, _mon cher_ , to watch you two shock these Americans good."

"What will shock anyone?" Viktor asked. "We have the same exhibition program we skated at the Grand Prix, it's been all over the internet."

"The Americans are the ones who keep pushing back against two men skating together in pairs. _Tu le sais_."

Viktor shook his head. "All they need to do is to increase the weight of the performance scores over technical."

"Which drags us back to the old scoring system where judges could do whatever they want," Chris said impatiently.

Yuuri cradled his teacup in both hands. The warmth was nice against his palms. "Two men in a pairs skate, they might not have more of a technical advantage over a man and a woman skating, but against two women in pairs, they could." His words were quiet, but they drove a wedge between Chris and Viktor's argument.

"Why wouldn't two men have more of an advantage?" Chris asked, while Viktor sat back to consider.

Yuuri shrugged. "In pairs, it's easier to lift and throw a smaller person. Viktor and I have a hard time with some of our lifts, because we both weigh too much. But maybe two women might not have the upper body strength for the lifts, I don't know."

"Not yet," Viktor mused. "Not a lot of female figure skaters have that kind of upper body strength, not yet. But a female hockey player might."

Chris looked between Yuuri and Viktor. "What are you two planning?"

"I'm not planning anything," Yuuri said hastily, setting down his cup. "I don't know what Viktor is doing."

"After PyeongChang, Russia's women's hockey team may not have much to do." Viktor's eyes were sparkling. "Maybe some of them would want to make the jump to figure skating."

Chris started to laugh. "Now you're turning a division you're not even _in_ on its head. Where do you get your ideas?"

"I have a very creative inspiration," Viktor told him, laying a hand on Yuuri's wrist. Yuuri was torn between mild discomfort and smugness. "But enough about the distant future. What about after the gala?"

"Alas, when my spot on the ice went to that little one from Lugano, so did my banquet seat." Chris sighed.

"Wait, you won't be at the banquet?" Yuuri blurted out. Chris always brought the most life to the after-event celebrations.

Chris winked at him. "No, _mon petit cochon_ , not this year. You will have to get up to all the naughtiness on your own."

As Yuuri sputtered, Chris picked up a conversation that he and Viktor had been having the previous day about the upcoming Winter Olympics in South Korea, and the meal returned to something resembling normal.

After saying their farewells, Viktor and Yuuri went back up to their floor. Yuuri's left butt cheek still smarted from Chris's farewell slap, but that wasn't what bothered him. Viktor was being too quiet as they walked down the hallway to their room.

"When do you want to leave?" Yuuri asked while Viktor unlocked the door.

"In half an hour," Viktor said, standing back to let Yuuri in. "We'll have to take a taxi. I will call the front desk to arrange one."

"Are you going to wear your track suit?" Yuuri went over to the table where his and Viktor's medals lay side-by-side in the sunlight. "And what are we going to do with these?"

Viktor glanced over from where he was digging out his pants. "The hotel safe," he said shortly. "They will be better there."

"Okay." Yuuri pulled his shirt off over his head. A faded t-shirt was all right for breakfast, but there would be cameras and press at the arena, and that required sponsors' logos. Luckily, that meant he could get away with a long-sleeve thermal shirt in soft black under his team Japan jacket, for the long hours sitting watching the programs.

"Do you really think I am too old?"

The question, so quiet that Yuuri nearly missed it, came as Yuuri was pulling the shirt over his head. He got tangled up for a minute in the sleeves and when he finally found the head opening, he knocked his glasses off and had to crouch down to find them.

He couldn't even pretend he didn't know what Viktor was talking about. All the food he'd eaten at breakfast churned in his guts and acid burned at the back of his throat. Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut?

"I don't think that," Yuuri said, stumbling over the words. "I was saying that to Chris, not you. You're different."

Viktor shrugged. His hair fell in his eyes as he undid his belt buckle. "Maybe I am not so different after all." He stripped out of his trousers and shirt, tossing them over the end of the bed as he stepped into his red-and-whites. Still, he didn't look at Yuuri.

Something clicked in Yuuri's head. "It does bother you that I got gold yesterday," he blurted out. "Last night you said it didn't, but it does."

"It didn't bother me last night." Viktor smoothed his hair back before zipping up his Sochi jacket. "Maybe it doesn't bother me now."

Yuuri tugged on his shirt hem to settle fabric over his chest. "You're not too old, Viktor, you did amazing yesterday."

"It wasn't enough for gold, was it?"

Yuuri balled his hands up in the hem of his shirt and tried to breath. What was Viktor _saying_?

"I thought, coming here, and being here…" Viktor pressed his hand over his mouth. "I thought maybe I would have been able to hold onto my edge just a little bit longer. But it does not matter. Not any more."

Yuuri's heart was beating so fast that he wondered distantly if he was going to pass out. "Viktor…"

Viktor looked up, and something in his expression shifted. In an instant, he was standing in front of Yuuri, reaching up to cup Yuuri's face in his hands. "Not you," Viktor murmured, resting his forehead against Yuuri's. "This is not about you, Yuuri, it has never been about you."

"Then what is it about?"

Viktor's hands slid around the back of Yuuri's neck, holding him close. "It is about me, and this city, and none of this mattering any more."

Yuuri's mind whirled. _This city_ meant Boston, right? And with that, the pieces fell into place, the conversation they'd had on the bus the night before, the weary acceptance in Viktor's voice when he had talked about his father not showing up to watch him skate.

"It matters," Yuuri whispered. "If it bothers you, then it matters."

Yuuri put his arms around Viktor and pulled him in closer for a hug. Viktor, for all that he was only three inches taller than Yuuri, collapsed down on Yuuri like he was a puppet with his strings cut.

"You said last night," Yuuri began. "You said that it mattered that I was there with you last night."

"I know," Viktor said against Yuuri's shoulder.

"I can't do anything about anything else," Yuuri went on. "I can't do anything about Chris, or about your father, or anyone else. All I can do is be here with you."

Viktor's fingers clutched at Yuuri's shirt.

"That's where I will always be," Yuuri continued. "I'll always be with you, wherever we are. If you're competing, or I'm competing, or neither of us is, we'll still be together."

Viktor breathed heavily.

Yuuri took a deep breath. "I have to skate my best," he said. Viktor pulled back to look at him, eyes red. "I will never do anything except skate my best for you."

"That's all I want," Viktor said, running his thumb over Yuuri's cheek. "We're better when we are together."

"We are the best together," Yuuri agreed. He kissed Viktor's fingers. "If you want to talk about your father, I will listen. If you want to talk about Chris, I'll listen to that, too. But please don't _not_ talk to me."

"My father should not be your problem."

Yuuri squeezed Viktor's hand. "If he's your problem, then he's my problem."

Viktor shook his head. "Let's not talk about him any more," he said as he stepped back. "Let's talk about figure skating."

Yuuri watched him move around the room, picking up things before putting them down again. It was a nervous activity that Yuuri had only seen in Viktor a few times. "I always like to talk about figure skating," Yuuri said carefully.

"Good." Viktor swept up the medals. "Where are the cases? We need to get going."

"I'll get them." Yuuri retrieved the medal cases, stepped into his new track shoes from one of the sponsors, and they headed out.

While Viktor talked to the hotel manager to lock up their medals, Yuuri was accosted for autographs by a group of figure skating fans. Viktor saved him after a few minutes of polite chatting and photographs, and then the two of them climbed into a taxi for the arena.

Yuuri sank down as far as he could in the seat. "Is that what you go through?" he demanded.

Viktor laughed. "That? Was nothing. Wait until we get to the arena."

Yuuri poked Viktor's leg. "You're not nice."

"I am a delight." Viktor poked Yuuri back. "I told you, you are a fairy tale come to life, a princess who lived a peasant's life before becoming a hero."

"What fairy tale has that happen?" Yuuri asked, still rather grouchy.

"Vasilisa the Beautiful and Baba Yaga," Viktor said. "I will tell it to you later, even though everyone gets Baba Yaga wrong."

Yuuri, who had no idea what or who a _Baba Yaga_ was, pressed his knee against Viktor's as he looked out the window at Boston speeding by. After a minute, Viktor's hand slid around his. Yuuri felt the tension from their quasi-argument fade into the back of his head. Whatever happened, whatever came at them, as long as they were together, they could handle anything.

* * *

It wasn't until they were in their seats to watch the pairs' free program that Yuuri remembered to look up the meaning of Yurio's message. While the first pair waited nervously for their score, Yuuri copied the Russian words into a translation program.

He was still looking at the translation when the score was announced to the audience's cheers. Viktor nudged him with his elbow. "Clap, Yuuri," he said in an undertone.

Yuuri put his phone down to applaud the young couple. Their combined score had barely cleared 150, but they were both grinning so sunnily that Yuuri clapped harder.

He remembered being so low in the rankings, and he had never managed to smile so brightly.

"Where are they from?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor gave him a concerned look. "Australia," he said. "It's on the screen."

Yuuri shook his head. "Right, yes."

As the next pair was announced, Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders in a friendly gesture, one that put his mouth beside Yuuri's ear. "What is wrong? I got us these seats so everyone could see us."

Yuuri sighed. Of course Viktor had. "I translated Yurio's message."

"Ah."

"Why did he call my mother those bad things? I thought he liked her."

Viktor stroked Yuuri's arm. "It's a Russian way to tell someone that they are trash. It doesn't mean anything about your mother."

Yuuri let out a long breath. He was getting past the surprise of knowing what Yurio had said, and there was a new feeling rumbling in his chest.

Anger.

"He didn't have to say that about my mother," Yuuri said again. He exhaled again, pressing back against Viktor's arm. The pair on the ice was taking up their starting positions. "She likes him."

Viktor was silent as the music began, attentively watching the pair from Israel skate their program. They were good for their standing, not making any mistakes or falls, and their music had a peppy beat.

Only… Yuuri couldn't get rid of the brewing irritation towards Yurio. Yuuri didn't mind if Yurio insulted him; he could look after himself. But Yuuri's mother had been very kind to Yurio when the boy arrived unannounced at their home in Hasetsu, had taken him in and fed him big meals and done his laundry. Yuuri had been able to forgive Yurio for leaving the city without even saying goodbye to his mother and Mari, but now…

Now, he was as close to angry as he had ever been with the boy.

This time, when the pair on the ice finished their program, Yuuri was ready to applaud their efforts.

It took a few more skaters for Yuuri to calm down enough to consider a response to Yurio, and then he kept his mouth shut and his phone in his pocket for a few more programs. Eventually, they got to a pause where the audience could stretch their legs and the judges could take a break. As soon as the break began, Yuuri and Viktor were besieged by autograph seekers. After having watched Viktor for so long, Yuuri could put on a pleasant face, sign what people wanted, and pose for photos with the more ardent fans.

He was grateful, however, for the silently hovering security guard ten feet away, just in case any of the fans got a little… rambunctious.

After many autographs and pictures, the announcer's voice came over the speakers for everyone to resume their seats. As the fans departed, Viktor sat back in his chair with his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. "Do you know what I like?" he said in Yuuri's ear.

"Red and white tracksuits?" Yuuri replied.

Viktor laughed. "It's nice to share the spotlight," he said as the next pair of skaters emerged for their program. "I like that everyone sees how wonderful you are."

Yuuri rested his head on Viktor's shoulder for a moment. "I think it is strange."

Viktor kissed the top of Yuuri's head. " _Tu es parfait_."

Yuuri frowned, moving back to look at Viktor. "Yogurt?" he whispered in confusion.

Viktor's sudden grin was blinding. "I'll stick to English from now on."

With a growl, Yuuri settled back against Viktor's arm. He was having a hard enough time picking up Russian; the last thing he needed was for Viktor to start switching into French when Chris wasn't around.

After the pair on the ice were done and skating over to the kiss-and-cry, Yuuri pulled out his phone to translate what Viktor had called him. When he saw the English translation of _parfait_ , Yuuri was unable to keep from smiling.

Quickly, he typed something into his phone, tapped the button to translate it to Russian, then waited to catch Viktor's attention to show him the screen.

"Ты совершенен для меня," Viktor read aloud, his smile soft and warm for Yuuri. "Спасибо, Yuuri."

A happy, warm feeling spread through Yuuri's limbs, and he leaned against Viktor to watch the next pair.

The afternoon wore on. Once, Yuuri got up to go to the washroom, and twice Viktor went for snacks. The second time, he was gone long enough for Yuuri to text him to see if he was okay. Viktor's reply was a photograph with a bunch of his fans, so Yuuri settled back down to wait.

As the first pair of skaters from Canada left the ice to wait for their scores, Yuuri pulled out his phone again. He scrolled down to Yurio's message. His anger had tapered off, but he was still hurt that Yurio would say something so mean about Yuuri's mother.

He had to reply with something. He couldn't let Yurio think it was all right to say such things.

After a minute, Yuuri typed out, _Be mad at me if you want but you don't say bad things about my mother. She is a very nice lady. She likes you very much. She thinks you are a good boy._

Yuuri looked at the message. He knew his phrasing was terrible, but he didn't know how else to say what he wanted in a language that Yurio would understand.

Yuuri hit send. There was nothing else that he could do about Yurio. He had figure skating to watch.

Viktor returned bearing armfuls of snack boxes. "Look, Yuuri, I got nachos!"

Yuuri looked at the offered box of nachos, layered down with cheese and shredded meat. "How are you still hungry?"

Viktor put the box on the armrest between them. "I'm always hungry. And the season is over, so I can eat what I want"

Yuuri picked up a chip. Figure skating had taught him that the one thing he was good at, besides anxiety-induced breakdowns, was eating junk food. "I'm going to remind you that you said that the next time you get mad at me for eating pizza."

"I never get mad at you," Viktor pointed out. "I have performance-based _concerns_."

Yuuri shoved the chip into his mouth. As usual with American snack food, it managed to be too salty while not retaining much in the way of flavour. Still, he expected nothing more. "Thanks for getting this for us."

Viktor beamed at Yuuri. At Viktor's expression, something warm and happy shifted in Yuuri's chest. Viktor might be hard to understand sometimes, but Yuuri loved him so much.

"Now," Viktor said, turning his attention to the ice. "Watch, these two are _Moskvitch_. They won silver at Sochi but had to take last year off for injury. They should be good."

So Yuuri watched the skaters, snuggled besides Viktor as the man ate the hot peppers and shredded beef off the nachos with a plastic fork and kept up a quiet commentary on how the skaters from the Moscow rinks were never quite as good as Yakov's students.

Yurio didn't text back.

* * *

The day sped by. The pairs finished, the women went on, and it was late that night when Yuuri awkwardly patted Mila's back as she cried tears of joy and exhaustion out on his shoulder, holding her very first gold medal.

He and Viktor got back to the hotel around midnight. Yuuri had eaten too much junk food and he felt disgusting, but he fell asleep soon enough.

The next day started with a bang. Phichit bounced into their room hotel room at a disgustingly early hour, enabled by Viktor, and hauled Yuuri up for breakfast. Viktor bowed out, saying he needed to arrange for dry-cleaning and transportation. Betrayed, Yuuri glared at Viktor as Phichit manhandled him out of the room and into the elevator.

"Why are you doing this?" Yuuri asked, still trying to blink sleep out of his eyes as he stumbled across the lobby.

"Because I want some quality time with my best friend." Phichit pushed Yuuri into the restaurant, towards a group of skaters. "And everyone else."

"You're terrible," Yuuri muttered, letting himself be shoved into a chair between Emil and a young woman from Spain, who had come in seventh the previous day in the women's skate.

Breakfast was fine, even though Yuuri missed Viktor. Everyone was happy, looking forward to the gala exhibition and the banquet afterwards. Yuuri had to endure a little light teasing about his pole dancing, as a few of the skaters had been at that fateful Grand Prix banquet the year before.

None of Yakov's skaters were at breakfast, which surprised Yuuri. Georgi, he could write off as being in a mood, and Viktor was occupied elsewhere, but Mila usually loved socializing, while Yurio hung around Otabek like a grumpy limpet.

As the meal progressed, people moved around the table, so Yuuri maneuvered himself so that after a while he was sitting beside Otabek. The younger man kept checking his phone between bites.

"Have you talked to Yurio recently?" Yuuri asked when the conversation around them got loud.

Otabek shook his head. "I went up to see him yesterday afternoon but he wouldn't answer the door of his room. He told me to fuck off and leave him alone."

"And you did?"

Otabek gave Yuuri a dirty look. "Yura is my friend. When a friend of mine says they want to be alone, I leave them alone."

There wasn't much more to say after that. Yuuri went to sit with Guang Hong and Leo, and watched Phichit hit on one half of an ice dance team from Ukraine.

Yuuri ended up back in his room by eleven. The next few hours were spent with preparation for the gala, costumes and make-up and running at the last minute for the shuttle to the arena. It wasn't until Yuuri was with Viktor backstage at the arena that he could share what he had heard from Otabek about Yurio.

Viktor didn't seem too concerned. "Yurio's pride was probably hurt worse than his ribs. Otabek is right, if he wants to be alone, he can be alone."

Yuuri stared at his reflection in the mirror. Was he getting a pimple beside his nose? He thought he had left all that behind in high school. "Yurio is alone too much," Yuuri muttered.

Viktor paused in adjusting his hair to look at Yuuri. "Yesterday he called your mother a whore and told you to go fuck yourself, and today you're worried about him?"

"I'm not worried." Yuuri fiddled with his ring. "Maybe I am a little worried."

Viktor finished with his hair. "My sweet Yuuri," he said as he took Yuuri into his arms. "In half an hour, I'm going to be picking you up while we're both speeding around an ice rink at top speed. I need you to _focus_."

It was not the most romantic thing Viktor had ever said, but Yuuri knew where he was coming from. "I'll be ready," Yuuri said. Because Viktor was so close, he pressed a light kiss against Viktor's lips. "When we're on the ice, it's you and me."

Viktor smiled, a tiny sweet smile that always made Yuuri melt. "You and me," he echoed. "Always."

Holding hands, they went to get ready for their skate, to show the world how perfectly they fit together.

* * *

Yuuri pulled on Viktor's jacket sleeve before the man went into the banquet hall. "Viktor, wait."

Viktor turned around, catching Yuuri's hand. "What is it?" he asked, guiding Yuuri over to the wall. "How do you feel?"

"Okay." In all truth, Yuuri was better than okay. His joints were loose and his whole body tingled. After they had returned to their hotel room from the gala skate, Yuuri had wasted no time in stripping Viktor out of his clothes and pushing him onto the bed. Now, in the hallway outside of the celebratory banquet, Yuuri blushed at the memory of how many ways he and Viktor had come together on that bed, then blushed harder when he remembered all the intimate ways Viktor had touched him afterwards in the shower.

"Are you sure?" Viktor asked in a low purr, stepping in beside Yuuri. He slipped his fingers around Yuuri's tie and stroked downwards. "If you feel unwell, maybe I should take you back upstairs and put you to bed."

Face still aflame, Yuuri glared at Viktor. "I am feeling well, thank you," he said tartly. "Now I'm going into that banquet hall and I'm going to have a good time."

"Oh yes," Viktor said, his voice slightly sarcastic. "Meeting all the skating officials and the sponsors."

"They never talk to me."

Viktor's eyebrows went up in honest surprise. "Yuuri, you won gold at the Four Continents and Worlds."

"So?"

Viktor cast his eyes to the ceiling. "So, my poor, innocent Yuuri, tonight you will get to experience what a champion has to go through at these events."

With that ominous pronouncement, Viktor hauled Yuuri down the hall.

Phichit was the first one to descend on Yuuri. He took one look at Yuuri's face, then moved his gaze to Viktor, then back to Yuuri. His smile was knowing. "Got in a little cardio before the banquet?"

Yuuri turned to leave, but Phichit caught his arm. "Go easy on him," Viktor said with amusement. "He has had a difficult day."

"I'll bet he has."

Yuuri glared. "I hate you both."

"You love us madly." Viktor blew Yuuri a kiss as he walked away. "I'll get drinks."

"Sparkling water," Yuuri called after him, but Viktor didn't respond.

"So," Phichit said, linking arms with Yuuri to walk him into the room. "I wondered why you left so fast after the gala, but now I see you had plans."

"How do you know what we were doing?" Yuuri asked, wondering if his head was going to explode from embarrassment.

"Because." Phichit waved at a clump of skaters who were all staring at Yuuri. They jumped and scattered. "You two are so sickeningly in love. Also you look ten thousand times more relaxed than you did at breakfast this morning and from years of experience, I know that it doesn't have anything to do with your skating."

Yuuri winced.

"So," Phichit went on, lowering his voice. "Does Viktor have a no-sex-during-competition rule? Because you were looking pretty tense earlier this week."

Yuuri sighed. "Do you really want me to tell you?"

Phichit's eyes went wide. "You're actually going to?"

"No, but I want to know how much you want to know."

Phichit hit Yuuri's shoulder. "You're no fun," he complained. "You're getting married to your life-long idol and I don't get any gossip?"

Yuuri thought about it. "Here's some gossip," he finally said. "Some days, when we come back from the rink…"

Phichit waited, unblinking.

"Viktor will just leave his sweaty dance belt on the _bathroom floor_."

Phichit stared for a moment, then started laughing.

"What is so funny?" Viktor asked, picking this moment to sidle up to them with drinks in his hands.

"Phichit is a terrible friend," Yuuri explained, taking the glass Viktor offered. A sniff told him that the clear liquid it contained was water. "That's all."

"Yes, so terrible." Viktor was smiling, but it was the showcase smile he always wore at these events. "Here, for you."

Phichit took the other glass from Viktor. "I miss this guy," he said as he nudged Yuuri's ribs with his elbow. "Roommates for all those years, that means a lot."

"You must know so much about him," Viktor said wistfully.

"Well, you have a long time to learn everything about me," Yuuri said, then took a sip from his glass to hide his blush.

Through some dubious miracle, several of the ISU officials descended upon them. Yuuri soon learned what Viktor had meant in the hallway. He was introduced to many strangers, with a lot of awkward hand-shaking and bowing and empty small talk.

Yuuri quickly lost sight of Phichit, but Viktor stayed by his side as Yuuri walked the gauntlet.

It was only after Mila walked into the banquet hall that the officials and sponsors abandoned Yuuri. As soon as the last one, an older man from some clothing company in England, headed off, Yuuri leaned against Viktor's side.

"And that," Viktor said, "Is why I hate these things."

"I need a drink," Yuuri croaked.

"As you wish." Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's shoulder to guide him over to the bar. While Viktor talked to the bartender, Yuuri looked around, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden nearness of two petite figure skaters.

"Katsuki Yuuri!" one of the girls breathed, words edged with the familiar cadence of Japanese. Both of them bowed at him.

"Your new world record is amazing!" exclaimed the other, her eyes shining.

"Um, hello," Yuuri said, turning to face the young women and bowing his head. He had watched them skate the previous day. They had performed adequately, although none of them had earned a place on the podium. "It is nice to meet you. I watched you skate, you did very well."

The taller of the young women giggled nervously. "Please, our coaches want to meet you, but you were occupied."

"Of course," Yuuri said, resigned to meeting more strangers. "One minute, please." He turned to Viktor, who had been listening the flow of Japanese with interest. "I'm going to go meet their coach."

Viktor smiled. "I'll rescue Mila." He looked past Yuuri to the young women, bade them a lovely evening in his accented Japanese, then vanished into the crowd.

The young women dragged Yuuri over to where their coaches were seated, along with the other Japanese figure skater who had failed to progress from the short program. She looked so incredibly downcast that Yuuri ached in sympathy. He had spent years feeling that shame of failure.

Greetings were exchanged, Yuuri easily slipping back into the language and etiquette he had grown up with. Compliments were shared about everyone's performance, and gratitude expressed by the skaters to their coaches.

Then the eldest, Coach Sugiyama, fixed Yuuri with a sharp eye. "Young Katsuki," he began. "Tell us what it is like to train in Russia at old Feltsman's rink."

Yuuri tried to describe what it was like to live and train in St. Petersburg. It was somewhat of a relief to discuss the culture shock with people who understood what he was talking about, although he kept his anecdotes as innocent as he could for the adults.

While Yuuri talked, the banquet hall filled. Yuuri kept half an eye on the door, but he did not see any sign of Yurio.

As Yuuri wound up one last anecdote, Coach Sugiyama thanked him for his stories. "It is good to see young people who succeed through drive and dedication." The older man cast a baleful eye at the downcast figure skater. She ducked her head to stare intently at the table.

Yuuri faltered. He knew this sort of back-handed dressing down, had lived it at school for years, but it didn't sit right with him that his success was being used to diminish another's attempts. Clearing his throat, Yuuri said, "Dedication and drive helped, but also location and support. When I was in Detroit, Coach Celestino did his best with me, but when I returned home Japan, to Hasetsu, I found the additional support I needed to make more progress."

The older man looked at him sharply. Yuuri knew his cheeks were pink but he didn't look away from the glare. What he had said was true, and it might be interpreted as if he had been lauding the benefits of training in Japan. He hadn't expressly _said_ that he had needed to switch coaches to make it to the next level… although no one at the table would misunderstand what he had said.

"You were in America for too long, young man," Coach Sugiyama told him, glare still sharp. "Make sure you do not make the same mistake about Russia."

"Of course not," Yuuri said, bowing from his seat.

"Yuuri!" Mila appeared at his side, all bouncy and excited. She waved at the Japanese figure skaters. "Hello!"

Introductions were made, with Yuuri dutifully translating for the coaches, for whom Mila's heavily accented English was too much to understand.

Once polite words had been exchanged on programs, Mila linked her arm with Yuuri's. "I need to steal Yuuri, it is a very important matter," Mila said with a sunny smile, then dragged Yuuri away while he was still bowing his farewells.

"Mila, what is important?" Yuuri asked as the young woman steered him towards the bar.

"You looked like you were going to fight that old man," Mila said in his ear. "Viktor told me to protect you while he talked to sponsors, so this is me, I protect you."

"You didn't have to do that," Yuuri muttered.

"No, but Viktor, he worries about you." Mila batted her eyelashes at Yuuri. "Oh, to be so loved."

Yuuri shook his head as he accepted a glass of water from the bartender. "I told Yurio at the Grand Prix, and I'll tell you. I'm not buying you any alcohol. Coach Yakov will kill us both."

Mila shook her head with the weariness of the long-suffering. "I don't want to drink. I need someone to keep the old people away from me. They get… what is the word." She made groping motions with her hands. Yuuri nearly choked. "That is why I like to take pictures with Viktor. He stands between me and the hands."

Yuuri put his glass down. "Who does that? Someone should stop them."

Mila looked at him curiously. "You are so new, to this."

Yuuri put his hand on Mila's elbow, mindful to keep his touch light. "Mila, if someone does that… that is terrible."

She made a brushing-off gesture, but there was a tightness in her eyes. "I am lucky to have a very good coach," she said as she bent her arm around Yuuri's hand, guiding him over to the doors to the hallway. "And even you ridiculous boys, you are good boys, you help me out. Viktor, he tells to me when I was very young, what to watch for."

Yuuri held the door open for Mila to slip through, then followed her out of the hall. The sudden quiet made his ears pop. "If someone know what's happening, why do they let it happen?"

Mila leaned against the wall, some of the tensions draining from her expression. "Do you want to know what Viktor told me when I was fourteen?" she asked quietly.

Yuuri really didn't, but he nodded anyway.

"He says, we are beautiful people, who do impossible things." Her smile was as sharp as Yuuri had ever seen it. "There are people with money and power and they will try to eat you up with their sharp teeth and jealous tongues."

Yuuri leaned against the wall beside Mila. There was a hardness in her voice that Yuuri had never heard before, never when they were at the rink, or alone with the competitors at the arena.

It made him feel slightly sick.

"But Viktor also says that I did not have to let that happen," Mila concluded. She straightened up, lifting one hand in a graceful movement. "Viktor says, we are impossible creatures, and we are stronger than those who would devour us."

Yuuri crossed his arms over his chest. "This is all terrible."

"There are no people who make you cringe, when they look at you?" Mila asked. "Old men who stare at you like you are meat?"

Yuuri bit his lip. He hadn't thought of it in years, but now that Mila reminded him, there had been one incident when Yuuri was just starting off in Juniors. He couldn't have been older than fifteen and he hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. With his shortness and his baby-cheeks, everyone always said he looked like one of the younger boys, hardly thirteen. That year, at one of the regional skating competitions in Japan, there had been a skating official whose eyes had followed Yuuri a little too closely.

Minako had been with Yuuri at that competition, and that was the only time that she had stuck to him so closely.

Minako, who had travelled the world as a ballerina, whose skill and grace as a dancer was still legendary.

Minako, who was more like one of Viktor's impossible creatures than Yuuri ever would be.

Yuuri was suddenly very tired.

"You've felt it, too," Mila said, pulling Yuuri back to the present with a bump. "It is terrible. And so the boys look out for me, and I look out for the boys." She poked her elbow into Yuuri's ribs. "And now you, too."

"If you ever need anything from me, say the word," Yuuri said. "Any time of day, I'll be there for you."

Mila took Yuuri's arm to press a quick kiss against his cheek. "I like you," she said when she pulled back. "Viktor said you were a good man when you came to us. I can see that now."

"You have to tell me if anyone does bad things tonight," Yuuri said as Mila pushed off the wall. He straightened up, offering her his arm again.

Mila waved her hand dismissively before slipping it around Yuuri's forearm. "Once Coach Yakov comes, I will sit with him and Georgi. And later I will dance with all the girls and no one will touch us."

Yuuri reviewed that as they walked slowly down the hall. "What about Yurio? Isn't he coming tonight?"

Mila shrugged. "I do not know. He has been a… Очень злой котенок? A little kitten, with teeth."

"Is he still hurt?"

"Yes, but this... this is not that." Mila slowed her pace. "You get hurt, you get up. I try to tell him, when you fall down in one competition, you get up in another. That is figure skating."

"How did he take that?" Yuuri asked nervously.

Mila rolled her eyes, back to the level of exasperation Yuuri was used to. "You know what he called me?" Mila let out a string of irritated Russian words Yuuri did not understand. "I tell to him, if he ever says things like that to me again, I will bury him under the center of the ice and skate over his body every day."

"Why is he being so mean to everyone?" Yuuri asked. The din from the banquet hall was beginning to settle, which meant that people were sitting down for dinner. They would need to get back inside soon. "He's never been like this before."

Mila shrugged. "He won for ages in the Juniors. I think winning the Grand Prix made his head swell up and when he fell, all that was knocked over."

"I wish there was something we could do."

"You can do what you want. I'm going to ignore that little brat until we get back home, then I have a whole _week_ without having to worry about any of you."

Yuuri sighed. When was the last time he had a whole week off from having to worry about practice and competitions? "That sounds lovely," Yuuri said, starting off again in the direction of the banquet hall's main doors. Mila trailed along at his side. "What are you going to do?"

"Go visit my parents." Mila took a breath, then quickly turned her head. "Yura? Why are you lurking?"

Yuuri spun on his heel. Sure enough, Yurio was standing at the end of the hallway, looking like he was caught in the headlights. In spite of their conflict over the last two days, Yuuri felt infinitely relieved. "Yurio, hi!"

The boy crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "Why aren't you in the banquet?" Yurio demanded, his voice scratchy. He looked pale and drawn, dark circles under his eyes for all he was dressed in his nice suit. "What the hell are you doing hiding out here?"

"We were taking a break," Mila said archly. "What are you doing? Coach Yakov said that you weren't coming down for dinner because your ribs hurt too much. Why are you trying to sneak in now?"

Yuuri's stomach lurched. Viktor had been saying that Yurio was on the mend, but if his ribs still hurt so much… "Yurio, maybe you should go back upstairs," Yuuri said, walking down the hall so he was closer to Yurio. With a groan, Mila followed him.

Yurio's glare was incandescent. "Why don't you fuck off and stop telling me what to do?"

Mila threw her hands into the air, but Yuuri wasn't deterred. "If you're still injured—"

"Don't fucking talk to me, what do you know?"

"Yurio," Yuuri said. "I want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"What the hell do you know about anything?" Yurio exclaimed. "You're just some useless skater! You only got here you are because you tricked Viktor into coaching you and choregraphing for you, like you're anything!"

Yuuri stepped back, stung. There was a level of vitriol in Yurio's words that had never been directed at him before, and he didn't know how to take it.

"How can you talk like that?" Mila demanded. "Coach Yakov told you that Seniors were going to be like this, that you weren't always going to win all the time! You feel sorry for yourself because you fell down and now you treat everyone like this?"

"Shut up, you hag!"

"Yurio," Yuuri began, taking one last step forward. He put his hand out, to take Yurio's arm, but the boy was still glaring at Mila and must have been off balance. When Yuuri touched Yurio, the boy jerked backwards, his face contorting as his body twisted. "I'm sorry!"

"Fuck you!" Yurio curled in on himself, breathing hard. "I tell you to fuck off and you keep ignoring me! Do you have shit for brains?"

"Yurio, I'm sorry," Yuuri said again. Everything was getting out of control and Yuuri didn't know how to make things right. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right after your fall."

"What the hell _for_?"

"You're my friend."

Yurio looked at Yuuri for a moment, then his face hardened. "We were never friends," he spat. "When you thought we were friends, but I was watching you so I'd know how to beat you. And I will, because you're pathetic and soft!"

"Yura, close your mouth!" Mila snapped. "You speak like a brainless child!"

Yurio ignored her. "I'm not your friend, asshole, so get that stupid look off your face."

Yuuri swallowed. He knew Yurio was hurting, knew he was probably still angry and embarrassed about messing up his program, but that didn't make anything any better. With everything they had been through together over the last year, Yuuri had thought that they were friends. He didn't know if he should believe Yurio now, when the boy was so obviously upset.

"I said, get that stupid look off your face!"

Before Yuuri could react, Yurio moved forward and shoved Yuuri, hard. Yuuri hadn't been expecting for Yurio to make things physical. He stumbled, making it two steps before his balance failed and he tripped backwards. He flinched, automatically preparing himself for a hard landing.

What he got instead was a collision with something soft, with someone's hands gripping at his arms, and a loud 'oof.' Whoever had caught Yuuri hauled him back up onto his feet. It took Yuuri a moment to find his balance, long enough to see that both Yurio and Mila had frozen in place.

Confused, Yuuri turned around. He nearly passed out when he saw his rescuer.

He had been caught by the President of the International Skating Union, János Zsengellér.

"Oh!" Yuuri breathed. "Sir, I'm so sorry!"

The man, old and creaky from his decades sitting rink-side, smoothed his sparse hair back from his forehead. "What is going on out here?" he demanded. His eyes left Yuuri, travelling to Mila, and then landing on Yurio.

The boy bolted.

"Yura!" Mila exclaimed, about to go after him, when Zsengellér's voice called her back.

"You two should be in the banquet," the old man said severely. "We are about to begin and we need all of our medallists. Come along."

"Yes, sir," Yuuri said, feeling his insides cramp with anxiety. Of all the people to see his altercation with Yurio… and he wouldn't understand, not at all!

"Yes, sir," Mila echoed. She caught up Yuuri's arm again and they walked back to the hall doors, the disapproving glare of the ISU president weighing them down.

"Shit," Yuuri said as they slipped in the doors. Thankfully, there was still enough noise in the hall to cover their entrance.

"Coach Yakov is going to have a heart attack," Mila whispered. "Go, sit with Viktor, I'll take care of Coach."

Yuuri let Mila go. He hesitated a moment, then turned to see the ISU president looking at him as the old man made his way back to the head table. Sour embarrassment surged up in Yuuri's throat as he walked as swiftly as he could over to Viktor's table.

"Yuuri!" Viktor greeted him, pulling Yuuri down onto the chair at his side. "I missed you."

Normally, Yuuri would have melted at Viktor's welcoming smile, but he just sat there, stiff and awkward and feeling terrible.

The smile faded off Viktor's face. "What?" he asked, leaning in to speak in Yuuri's ear as the room settled. "Yuuri, what is wrong?"

Yuuri exhaled. He reached for Viktor's hand, reassured when Viktor slipped his fingers around Yuuri's palm. "I think I messed up."

"What happened?"

As the emcee stood at the microphone to announce the evening program, Yuuri quietly told Viktor what had occurred in the hallway. He expected Viktor to chastise him for being so thoughtless with Yurio; what he did not understand was why Viktor looked so stricken.

"How much of what Yurio said did Zsengellér hear?" was Viktor's first question.

"I… I don't know," Yuuri confessed. "I didn't even see him come up. Probably not much, Yurio or Mila would have seen him."

"Это катастрофа," Viktor muttered. "I have to talk to Yakov."

Viktor started to rise, but then abruptly sat back down again. More confused than ever, Yuuri saw Yakov slowly making his way out of the room. He looked at the table, to see Mila sitting back in her chair, face pale.

"Viktor, what's wrong?"

Viktor waited until the room broke into applause before he said, "Yurio can't hit another skater in front of the ISU president and it not matter."

"He didn't—" Yuuri stopped, because technically Yuuri _had_ pushed him. Instead, he said, "It's not like anything he hadn't done before."

Viktor sat back as the hush fell, squeezing Yuuri's hand in warning. Yuuri tried to direct his attention back to the stage and the emcee, as worry and anxiety clawed up his throat and making him ill.

It was just as well he did, because the emcee was lauding all the medalists for their hard work, and Yuuri had to contend with nods of congratulations and some envy from the crowd. Yuuri sat straight in his chair, chin held high, as Minako had taught him all those many years ago _. It is far more important to be graceful in defeat than victory_ , she had told him as he had sniffled after a skating completion when he was seven. _If people think you're weak, they won't hesitate to climb on you to get to the top. If they think you're strong, they won't step on you._

So Yuuri sat still, pretending to be strong, pretending his whole body wasn't tense with worry, while the emcee droned on and Viktor fretted at his side.

Under the table, Viktor's hand in his was the only thing keeping Yuuri from screaming.

Finally, after the speeches were done and the dinner brought out, Yuuri could lean back in against Viktor and ask his interrupted question. "How is this any different from how Yurio acts at the rink?"

Viktor stabbed at a slice of chicken on his plate. "Yurio is in the senior level now. He cannot get away with the temperament of an angry child."

"But he got hurt—"

"Yuuri." The force in Viktor's voice made Yuuri jump. The others at their table looked at them. Viktor forced an empty smile onto his face and patted Yuuri's hand. "My apologies."

Everyone went back to their dinners, if a little uneasily.

"My apologies," Viktor said again, this time pitched for Yuuri's ears only. "I did not mean to be harsh."

Yuuri looked at his plate. He was starving, but the food in front him looked as appetising as wet paper.

"Stop making excuses for Yurio," Viktor went on. "If he wants to be treated as a man, he has to act like one. Calling you and Mila terrible names, and pushing you like he did, those are the actions of a child."

Yuuri took up a forkful of potato. "Something is wrong with him," Yuuri said stubbornly. "He's never acted like this before, not when you won at the Euros."

"Maybe," Viktor said. "This is his first injury from competition."

Yuuri put his fork down. He didn't want to eat. He instead reached for his water, breathing around his worry.

He couldn't fix anything with Yurio, not now. With the ISU president casting him considering glares every so often, Yuuri could do nothing but sit and wait for the banquet to be over.

* * *

Two hours later, Yuuri finally spotted an escape as some of the younger skaters went over to the DJ to play some dance music.

"Let's go," Yuuri said in Viktor's ear. "The last thing I want to do right now is dance."

"Are you sure?" Viktor said, even as he was standing up.

Yuuri didn't bother to answer, just headed for the doors, shaking hands and saying empty things to people who tried to stop him.

In a few minutes, he and Viktor were out in the hallway, free of the banquet.

"Now what?" Viktor asked.

Yuuri took a deep breath. His worry over Yurio and his panic over Zsengellér had faded slightly in the face of his hunger. "I want to go out," he said.

"Out where?"

Yuuri shrugged, guiding Viktor down the hall. "Out. It's not even eleven yet."

"Do you want to go dancing?" Viktor asked, slinging his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. "I could find us a lovely club."

"No, no dancing." Yuuri put his arm around Viktor's waist, matching his stride. He felt safe with Viktor like this, like they could do anything, face anything together. "I want…. I don't know. Something that isn't skating."

"Ah." Viktor guided Yuuri to the left, then right, and they were in the hotel lobby. "I know exactly where to go."

They walked out of the hotel into the soft Boston spring night. The air was warm and heavy with the salt-marsh scent of the bay. "Where are we going?" Yuuri asked as they crossed the street.

"A place with no skating," Viktor said. "And no dancing."

Yuuri squeezed Viktor's hip, comforted by the feel of Viktor's body close to his. "How do you know of this place?"

"I asked the concierge when we got here." Viktor held Yuuri back at the next street, waiting for the light to change. "I asked, tell me of places I can take my fiancé when we are finished skating."

Yuuri sighed. "Fiancé," he echoed. "I like that."

"It's true," Viktor said, moving them forward into the crosswalk. "And when it's not, then I can say, my husband, and that will be even better."

Halfway down the block, Viktor steered Yuuri into a lively pub. For so late on a Sunday, the place was full, with people watching various sports on the large televisions and cheering as the mood hit them.

"Go sit," Viktor said in Yuuri's ear. He pushed Yuuri towards an empty table near the back, then took himself over to the bar.

Yuuri sat down on the soft bench, weary beyond belief. He was starving and his head ached, and all he wanted to do was to hold Viktor's hand and be somewhere where no one cared how well Yuuri skated.

Idly, he watched Viktor through the crowd. Viktor was leaning on the bar, talking to the bartender and the waitress, flashing them his superstar smile. Yuuri found it amusing to watch Viktor flirt; even people who didn't know anything about skating melted under Viktor's rapt attention.

And at the end of the day, Viktor would always come back to Yuuri.

After a minute, Viktor pushed off the bar to make his way toward the table. Yuuri watched him, his slim strong body moving gracefully, his beautiful eyes glancing around the room, taking everything in. Then he looked at Yuuri, and everything else fell away.

"I missed you," Viktor said as he slid into the booth beside Yuuri.

"You were gone for five minutes," Yuuri pointed out, even as he slid his hand along Viktor's thigh under the table. Viktor let out a shuddering breath.

"Too long," Viktor murmured. He put his hand on top of Yuuri's, pressing it against his leg. "Even a moment apart is an eternity."

Yuuri relaxed against Viktor. Viktor squeezed his hand again, then draped his arm around Yuuri's shoulder. His fingers played against Yuuri's arm, both teasing and reassuring at the same time.

"What did you order?" Yuuri asked, idly watching a west coast hockey game on one of the large screens.

"Food. Drink."

Yuuri hummed a little. On the screen, one of the teams scored a goal, causing a few of the patrons to cheer.

"Do you like hockey?" Viktor asked.

"I know how it's played." Yuuri reluctantly took his hand off Viktor's leg so he could loosen his tie. "In Detroit, the only sport less popular than hockey was figure skating. Our rink times got moved around a lot for the hockey teams." Yuuri popped his top shirt button. "Do you?"

Viktor pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "I don't know. I've never been interested in hockey players."

It was a strange enough thing to say that Yuuri turned to look at him. "Well, neither am I, but that doesn't mean I don't watch the sport."

Viktor shook his head. "Forgive me, Yuuri, that was not a thing I meant to say. I must be tired."

Yuuri kept looking at Viktor. "You were tense all through dinner. Was that about me and Yurio?"

"Not you," Viktor corrected. "You… Well. Old Zsengellér probably thought you and Mila were going to hook up during the banquet."

"What?" Yuuri exclaimed, jumping back in the booth. His outburst didn't draw the attention of the intoxicated crowd. "He thought _what_?"

Viktor shrugged. "These officials, they have dirty minds. They think that skaters are going to be sleeping with each other at any opportunity. They're right half the time, of course, but their fixation on it is wearying."

Yuuri wasn't sure what was worse; the idea that the ISU president would think he was sneaking out of the banquet to have sex, or that anyone would think he was sleeping with _Mila_. "Oh my god," he moaned as he put his head into his hands.

Viktor patted Yuuri's back. "Don't worry. Zsengellér is the kind of man who would think more of you for it."

Yuuri lifted his head to glare at Viktor. "Everyone knows that I'm engaged to you."

Viktor shrugged again. "Given the number of divorces Zsengellér has had, I don't think infidelity would make him think less of you." He shifted his attention to the waitress, who was approaching their table with a tray full of drinks. "Ah, perfection!"

The waitress transferred four glasses to the table. "Enjoy!" she said with a grin. "Your food is on its way."

"Viktor," Yuuri said as the young woman walked off, "What is this?"

"Boilermakers," Viktor said with relish. "Here." He shoved a shot glass into Yuuri's hand. "Будем здоровы!"

What the hell, Yuuri thought. He slammed back the shot of whisky, gasping as the alcohol burned down his gullet, then swallowed half the beer. When he came up for air, it was to find Viktor staring at him.

Yuuri wiped his mouth. "I learned how to drink in Detroit," he said wheezily. "Come on, I thought Russians could drink."

Viktor cocked an eyebrow. "Americans drink for fun," he informed Yuuri before pouring the whisky into his beer. "Russians, we drink like it's business." He proceeded to drink his entire pint in one go.

Yuuri could already feel the warm burn of the alcohol sliding along his veins. "That sounds like a challenge," he said as he shifted closer to Viktor.

Viktor laughed. "Not really," he said, and his lips tickled Yuuri's ear. "I saw what happened when you drank at the banquet two years ago, and the only person you're taking your clothes off tonight for is me."

Yuuri was still glowing from that mental image when the waitress returned with their food. "A cheeseburger!" Yuuri breathed. He was suddenly ravenous. "Why?"

Viktor moved the glasses to let the waitress put their plates on the small table. "Two more beers, _s'il vous plait_ ," he requested. Once the waitress had left again, he stole a curly fry off Yuuri's plate. "You told me, when you won on Friday, that you wanted a cheeseburger and fries."

Yuuri smiled at Viktor, his whole body warm and happy. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered." Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. "I remember everything you tell me."

Yuuri turned his attention to his hamburger. It was hot and greasy and, after the stressful evening he'd had, the second most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

Viktor let Yuuri eat, keeping up idle chatter on the hockey game and the players' sloppy skating technique. Eventually, Yuuri slowed down, chasing after bits of fry with his fork. The alcohol in his system, combined with the caloric excess he had just indulged in, was making him feel loose and warm. He settled beside Viktor, one hand holding his beer, the other resting on Viktor's thigh.

When the game cut to a commercial, Viktor drifted into silence. He sipped at his beer for a few minutes, then said, "I think that I, too, am worried about Yurio."

Yuuri was too pleasantly buzzed to tense at Viktor's words. "Because of what happened today?"

"Not only that." Viktor's breath was warm against Yuuri's cheek. "Because of what happened on the ice on Friday. Because of how he has been acting towards you and Mila since then. Yakov tells me that the little brat has been more rude towards him than usual, too."

"Mila thinks that Yurio is feeling sorry for himself."

"Maybe." Viktor took a sip of his drink. "But when _you_ feel sorry for yourself, you don't try to hurt the people who care about you."

"I'm not Yurio."

"I wouldn't have thought that he would do such things, before this week."

Yuuri swallowed another mouthful of beer. "Skaters do such strange things at Worlds."

"True," Viktor conceded. "Did I ever tell you what I got up to in Gothenburg?"

As Viktor sketched out a highly improbably story involving the German ice dance team, a Volvo, and two goats, Yuuri let the stresses of the day slip away into an alcoholic fog. He knew that he had fucked things up with Yurio, but he also wasn't willing to entirely forgive the boy his words.

If Yurio truly did hate him, Yuuri could handle it. But Yuuri had known Yurio for nearly a year, and he wasn't able to reconcile the boy's words that day with the friendship they had been building.

He didn't know what to think.

"Yuuri, are you listening?" Viktor cried. "This is the best part! We had just gotten the first goat into the back of the Volvo…"

Yuuri shifted his attention to Viktor. For tonight, Viktor would be the centre of Yuuri's world, whatever else was in store for them.

As for Yurio... Yuuri would figure out what to do with Yurio.

Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ты совершенен для меня – you are perfect to me
> 
> Спасибо – thank you
> 
> Очень злой котенок - very angry kitten
> 
> Это катастрофа – this is a disaster
> 
> Будем здоровы – cheers!
> 
> and of course: mon petit cochon - my little pig


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can hover over the Russian and French words for the English translation. Translations all listed at the end if you're on mobile.
> 
> I made a tactical decision to cut this chapter into two, as it was getting unwieldy. Working on chapter 4 now, which will focus on a) Family Dinner and b) the aftermath of terrible, terrible Russian decisions.

* * *

Yuuri padded down the hallway, hotel robe over his damp swim trunks. For once, he had woken before Viktor and decided to go for an early morning swim in the hotel pool. An hour later, walking down the hall on the return to his hotel room, he smelled like chlorine and missed Hasetsu more than ever, the hot springs and his mother's cooking and all his family.

The door opened easily with the keycard. Inside Viktor was pacing up and down, speaking Russian into his phone. He glanced at Yuuri, a tightness around his eyes as he raised his hand in silent greeting.

Yuuri waved back as Viktor's attention was drawn to the phone. "Yakov, _nyet!_ "

From the expression on Viktor's face, this would be going on for some time. Yuuri dropped his room key onto the bed and headed to the bathroom.

As he showered, Yuuri ran over his mental catalog of Viktor-and-Yakov conversations. The first kind, where Yakov shouted and Viktor pretended to ignore him, had made Yuuri nervous for the first week he was in St. Petersburg. It was only after Georgi sat him down to " _explain about Coach and Vitya"_ that Yuuri could relax enough to see how much both men enjoyed their interactions.

The second kind of interaction also had shouting Yakov, only the old man's tone was sharp and precise, making Viktor's shoulders hunch as he gave back as good as he got. When Yuuri asked about it later on, Viktor had made some short remark about how Yakov was sometimes too _Soviet_ before going too quiet.

The third conversation was when both of the men ganged up on other skaters at the rink, voices as thoughtful as they critiqued skating technique. Yuuri personally disliked being the target of their laser attention, but he had to admit that it was a little funny whenever anyone else (Georgi, usually, or more recently Yurio) was subjected to the dry counter-points. Most of their conversations were in Russian, but there was no mistaking that tone.

The fourth type of interaction was the one Yuuri had walked in on in the hotel room, where Viktor was trying to help and only growing more irritated as Yakov refused to listen to Viktor. Yuuri knew how much that stung Viktor, and he also knew that when he left the shower he was most likely going to have to deal with a sulky Viktor for a few hours.

Yuuri sighed, breathing in the steamy air. "The things I do for love," he muttered in English, before reaching for Viktor's too-expensive shampoo. Maybe that would get the stink of pool chlorine out of his hair before their press conference with the ISU.

When Yuuri emerged from the bathroom, skin pink from the water's heat and wrapped in Viktor's robe, it was to find Viktor draped dramatically over the bed. "Yuuri!" Viktor cried, reaching out one hand. "Do you still value my counsel?"

"Things not going well with Yakov?" Yuuri dropped onto the bed beside Viktor, making the man bounce.

Viktor let his arm fall. "I called to see how Yurio was doing, and do you know what Yakov said?"

Yuuri ran his fingers through Viktor's hair. "What?"

"He said that what did I know about teenagers?" Viktor slapped his hand against the bed. "I was one, I tell him, a much shorter time ago than he was!"

Yuuri tried to imagine Yakov as a teenager, and failed. "What did Yakov say to that?"

Viktor rolled onto his side, curling up around Yuuri and pressing his cheek against Yuuri's leg. "He said I was a weird child who had no idea why other people behaved the way they did, so please to let him handle Yurio alone."

Yuuri's fingers stilled in Viktor's hair. "He said _what?"_ Yuuri demanded, more than a little shocked. In all the interactions that he'd witnessed between Yakov and Viktor, Yakov had never been _mean_.

Viktor shrugged unconcernedly. "He was right, but I could still help with Yurio."

"Viktor…"

Viktor kissed Yuuri's robe-covered thigh before sitting up. "If I can't help Yurio, I can at least help you dress for the press conference," he said, smile sunny again.

Yuuri touched Viktor's cheek, the skin smooth under his fingers. "Viktor, Yakov shouldn't have said that about you."

Viktor looked at Yuuri in surprise. "Why?"

"Because you don't just tell someone that they were a weird kid to win an argument."

Viktor took Yuuri's hand, turning it over so he could kiss Yuuri's ring. "I was a very strange child," and all the joking was gone from Viktor's voice. "Maybe it was my mother. Maybe not." Viktor pressed Yuuri's hand over his heart, and Yuuri could feel the faint pulse in Viktor's chest. "Yakov saw it every day, after I went to live with him when I was twelve."

Yuuri wrapped his free hand around Viktor's neck. "Minako always used to say that all children are strange."

Viktor kissed Yuuri's palm. "Not like me," he said, closing his eyes. "I was… I do not know the word in English. Ненормальный. My teachers called me умственно отсталый, before Yakov took me out of school."

Yuuri did not know what the Russian words meant, but the flatness in Viktor's voice made Yuuri's stomach ache.

Carefully, Yuuri slid down so he was lying beside Viktor. "Come here."

Viktor curled around Yuuri, pressing his forehead against Yuuri's neck. Yuuri ran his hand up and down Viktor's back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"I've told you that the first time I saw you skate, I was twelve."

"Yes."

Yuuri pushed the hair back from Viktor's eyes, kissed his forehead. "I'd seen competitions before, but watching you was the first time that I could really see myself competing professionally. You made it all real. You made it matter."

Viktor breathed against Yuuri's throat, silent.

"I didn't know you then." Yuuri stroked his thumb over Viktor's cheek. "I know you now, and I know that you're not _too_ weird."

Viktor groaned into Yuuri's shoulder.

"You're still a little weird," Yuuri hastened to say. "But look at everyone else. Look at Christophe. Look at Georgi."

Viktor went still, then pushed himself up. "You did _not_ just compare me to Georgi," he complained.

Yuuri reached up to push Viktor's hair behind his ear. "It's figure skating. I think we all have to be a little weird to keep doing this."

Viktor collapsed back on top of Yuuri. "I was not a little weird," he said, cuddling as close to Yuuri as he could. "I was very weird."

"How?"

Viktor sighed. "I didn't talk when I was young."

Yuuri frowned up at the ceiling. That didn't sound like the gregarious Viktor Nikiforov that Yuuri knew. Some days, it was impossible to get Viktor to _stop_ talking.

"I didn't understand the other children at school," Viktor went on. "I didn't want to play games with them. All I cared about was skating." He turned his face into the curve of Yuuri's neck.

Yuuri didn't know what to say, so he just stroked Viktor's hair, holding Viktor close.

After a few minutes, Viktor sat up. "Come on, Yuuri," he said with so much false brightness that Yuuri's head hurt. "We have a press conference. Why aren't you dressed?"

Yuuri rolled to a sitting position. After so many months of living with Viktor, he knew that Viktor wasn't going to share anything else. "Do I need to wear my suit?"

"No. But I know!" Viktor said, still so artificially cheerful that Yuuri had to turn away. "You can wear my vest and your dark slacks. Very cute, _très beau!"_

Yuuri took off the robe and dressed himself in the clothes Viktor pulled out for him. The other man was moving around the room with too much nervous energy, but Yuuri didn't know what to do for him. Maybe it was talking about his childhood that had made Viktor so upset. It probably wasn't the conversation with Yakov, or anything Yuuri might have inadvertently done.

Finally, when they were ready to leave, Yuuri held Viktor back from the door. "Wait."

Viktor stopped. "We're going to be late."

"Then Yakov will stall for us." Yuuri turned Viktor around to face him. "I wanted to say thank you."

Viktor frowned down at him. "For what?"

Yuuri reached for Viktor's right hand. "Everything," he said, then lifted Viktor's hand so he could kiss the back of his hand. "For skating. For us."

For a long moment, Viktor stood still. Then, slowly, he reached his free hand up to touch Yuuri's cheek, his lips, his jaw. "I should be the one thanking you."

Yuuri moved in against Viktor, tilting his head back to look up. "We can thank each other," he said quietly. "And be together."

Some of the tension around Viktor's eyes softened. "I want that."

Yuuri smiled, the worry in his chest easing slightly. "Together," he said again, then leaned in to press a quick kiss to Viktor's lips. "We have to go."

Viktor touched Yuuri's lower lip again, sending tiny shivers down his spine. "Everywhere we go, I want to be with you."

Yuuri let his lips part, and gently bit down on Viktor's thumb. Viktor gasped, his eyes going dark with desire. "You know," Yuuri said after he pulled back. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back here." He raised one eyebrow with the confidence he only usually felt on the ice.

After that, Viktor couldn't get them out the door fast enough.

* * *

Hours later, Yuuri was standing in the middle of Cambridge, watching Viktor pretending to sightsee around the Harvard campus as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Really, Yuuri loved Viktor so much, but sometimes the man could be so difficult.

The morning's press conference had gone very well, even if ISU President Zsengellér had glared at Yuuri upon seeing him. The interviews went much as normal, with Yuuri having to answer wearisome questions from far too many reporters. One of the American lifestyle reporters had gushed about how "wholesome" Yuuri was, to which Viktor had muttered under his breath that she must not have seen Yuuri skate.

After the press conference was over and the wrap-ups completed with the ISU, Viktor had taken Yuuri back to the hotel, teasing him the whole time about what a wholesome interview he had given. Yuuri had waited until they were back in their hotel room before pushing Viktor onto the bed and asking if Viktor wanted to see how _wholesome_ Yuuri could be.

Viktor's response had been appreciative in the extreme.

Later, after they had come to their senses, gotten cleaned up and dressed for the afternoon, Viktor had asked, with incredibly precise casualness, that they should go out to see Boston and did Yuuri want to go for a drive?

Yuuri had unthinkingly agreed. It hadn't been until they were in the taxi and Viktor told the driver to head east into Cambridge that Yuuri began to put the details together.

Now, Yuuri followed Viktor around the Harvard campus, posing for pictures at various locations, and wondered when Viktor was actually going to explain why they were there.

As they walked across the yard for the third time, however, Yuuri was getting a little bored. "Do you want to go in there?" Yuuri asked, pointing at a large building.

Viktor looked up from his phone. "Why?"

"It's a big church, you could take a picture."

Viktor's gaze slid to Yuuri, his eyebrows going up. "You call that a church?"

"That's what it says on the sign."

Viktor shook his head. "When we get back to St. Petersburg, I'm taking you to a real church."

Yuuri let his head fall back, unable to hold in a sigh of frustration.

"What?" Viktor's question was a bit too sharp.

Yuuri sighed again. "Here," he said, holding out his hand. "Come with me."

"Where?" Viktor asked, but he let Yuuri take hold of his hand.

"We have been walking in circles for an hour," Yuuri pointed out as he pulled Viktor towards the road. "Now, we go where I want to go."

"I am sightseeing," Viktor said defensively. "That's what sightseeing is, walking in a circle and taking too many pictures."

"The point of sightseeing is to have fun," Yuuri countered. He turned the corner towards the familiar green-and-white logo he had spotted earlier that afternoon.

Viktor slowed down. "Yuuri," he whined, "I hate Starbucks."

Yuuri hauled Viktor down the sidewalk. "Then you don't have to have anything." They were at the doors then, and Yuuri had to let go of Viktor's hand to slip into the building. "I want a frappuccino."

The store was busy for so early in the afternoon. Yuuri went to stand in line, and smiled to himself when Viktor stood at his side, putting his arm over Yuuri's shoulders.

"Why do you like those things, anyway?" Viktor grumbled.

"Because they're sweet," Yuuri explained.

"They're fattening."

Yuuri turned to poke Viktor in the belly. "As of last night, it's the off-season."

"And gross."

"That's why you're getting coffee."

Viktor made a noise of disgust. "I don't like coffee here."

"Then get tea."

"The tea is gross."

Yuuri sighed. He knew that Viktor was worried about other things, even if he wasn't mentioning them, and that was coming out in Viktor's mood. "You can have water."

"I don't want water."

Yuuri put his arm around Viktor's waist. "Then you can sit and watch me drink my drink and make weird faces at me the whole time."

Viktor went quiet for a moment, then, "I do not make weird faces."

Yuuri smiled. "I should tell Mila and Georgi you said that, they will laugh for days."

Yuuri stepped up to the counter to order his drink. He also ordered Viktor a small black coffee. For all of Viktor's protestations, Yuuri knew that if Viktor didn't get something, he would get bored and wander off before Yuuri was done.

After a few minutes, they were squeezing into chairs at a small table by the back wall. Yuuri took one long sip of his first frappuccino in over a year, and moaned in satisfaction.

"It cannot be that good," Viktor grumbled, emptying a fourth sugar packet into his cup.

"I have been deprived," Yuuri said, prying off the plastic domed lid to lick the whipped cream off the drink. Viktor was staring at Yuuri with a mixture of horror and desire on his face. "And now that I broke two world records and won Japan's first gold at Worlds in years, I get to eat whatever I want."

Viktor tsked. "How can you say such nonsense to your coach?"

"My diet plan only went up to Sunday for the Exhibition," Yuuri reminded him.

"And if you have no diet plan, you can eat anything?"

"That's the rule," Yuuri said solemnly. He sucked down another mouthful of the coffee milkshake. "At least until Thursday."

"What happens on Thursday?" Viktor emptied two more sugar packets into his coffee.

"We land in St. Petersburg and we can eat at home again." Yuuri slumped down in his chair. He was struck with a strange case of sense-memory, of drinking frappuccinos with Phichit in Detroit, studying at a Starbucks while Phichit texted his friends and ignored his schoolwork.

Viktor tasted his coffee, and made a face.

"Does it need more sugar?" Yuuri asked around his straw.

Viktor set the cup down. "We should go back to the hotel," he said.

Yuuri frowned. "What?"

"We should go back to the hotel," Viktor repeated. He was looking down at the table and Yuuri could not see his eyes.

Yuuri set his drink on the table. "So we're not going to go see your father."

Viktor flinched.

"We don't have to," Yuuri hastened to add. He put his hand over Viktor's. Viktor's palm was warm to the touch. "We can go back to the hotel. I just thought… we came all the way out here…"

"It was a stupid idea," Viktor said. He turned his hand in Yuuri's grip so he could lace his fingers through Yuuri's. "All I have are stupid ideas."

"Hey." Yuuri put his free hand on top of Viktor's, running his thumb over Viktor's ring. "Don't say that."

Viktor took a deep breath. "When it comes to my father, everything I do is stupid." When he looked up, Yuuri was struck by the open hurt in Viktor's eyes. "I don't know what was in my head."

"We can go," Yuuri said, because he would have given anything in the world to take that pain away from Viktor. "Let's go find a taxi."

"You haven't finished your drink," Viktor protested.

Yuuri stood. "I don't want any more."

He waited as Viktor picked up his coffee cup, swept up the debris of the empty sugar packets, then carried them over to the garbage. Yuuri dropped his half-full drink into the trash, his stomach a little queasy at the amount of fat and sugar he had just subjected it to.

Once outside the door, Viktor gestured vaguely at the road. "Let's go for one more walk around the campus."

"Okay," Yuuri agreed reluctantly. He let Viktor walk him around the courtyard, past the weird graveyard in the middle of campus, then back around the paths until they were standing outside a building they had passed four times already that day.

Yuuri looked between the building and his fiancé. "Viktor."

Viktor stood motionless, his hair falling over his eye in the light spring breeze, as he stared up at the building.

"What is this place?"

Viktor ran his tongue over his lower lip. "It's where they put the history department."

"Is that what your father teaches?"

"Yes." Viktor looked down at Yuuri. There was a blankness in his expression that Yuuri hated to see. "Russian history."

"All of it?"

Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hand. Around them, people passed in and out of the building. "No. From before the Revolution to the death of Stalin."

"He must be very good, to teach here."

"Maybe." Viktor played with the edge of Yuuri's sleeve, a nervous worrying so unlike Viktor's normal behaviour. "I didn't pay much attention to what he did when I was a child. I was so focused on skating."

Yuuri patted the back of Viktor's hand. "Do you want to go see if he is here?"

Viktor took a deep breath. "No." But he stepped forward, pulling Yuuri along with him inside the building.

It was a large red brick building, probably old by American standards. Students surrounded them, which brought back to Yuuri memories of college in Detroit. Yuuri did not miss his classes, but he did miss Phichit and the few acquaintances he had made there.

"Where's your dad's office?" Yuuri asked as they came to a halt where the hallways bridged.

_"Je ne sais pas."_ Viktor shook his head when Yuuri looked up at him. "I did not think to look it up."

"That's not a problem." Yuuri looked around, then headed down the hall in the direction of what looked like an administration office. Sure enough, there was an open door into a large room, with a few desks set up. An older woman at the front desk was in the process of explaining something to a confused student.

"What are you doing?" Viktor asked Yuuri in an undertone as they waited.

"I'm going to ask where Professor Nikiforov keeps his office," Yuuri replied. "That's all."

"Yuuri…"

Yuuri touched Viktor's hand. "We can still leave if you want."

Viktor went quiet. The silence lasted until the student ahead of them wandered off, still looking confused, and the woman at the desk beckoned them over. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asked.

Yuuri tried to remember how to interact with American college staff. "Ah, hello," he said, smiling like he had no idea what he was doing. "I am looking for the office of Professor Nikiforov? He is a teacher of history, Russian history."

The woman wasn't paying much attention to Yuuri, instead looking at Viktor with a frown. "He's, uh, up in office 327. Two floors up and down along the north side."

"Thanks," Yuuri said, snagging Viktor's arm as he backed out of the room. Viktor was smiling his empty press-ready smile, which dropped off his face once they were out in the hall. "Viktor, do you want to go upstairs?"

Viktor stared down the hallway. "No."

"Oh." Yuuri felt the weight in his chest lift. "Okay, let's go." He moved towards the building exit, but Viktor did not follow him. "Viktor?"

Viktor turned his head. "I said, no, I do not want to go upstairs." He took a deep breath. "But I will."

His back straight, Viktor turned towards the staircase. Yuuri followed him, hoping that this wasn't going to turn into as big a disaster as he expected.

Two flights up, Viktor turned right into the hallway, slowing to look at the numbers on the doors. Yuuri caught up to him and slipped his hand around Viktor's wrist. "What are you going to say when you see him?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor shrugged. "I do not know anything about him, any more. We don't have anything to talk about."

"Do you email or call him?"

Viktor slowed to a stop. "I do not, and neither does he." He looked around. "We're going the wrong way."

Yuuri let Viktor turn them around and walk them back the other way. A few office doors were open in this part of the building, and at the end of the hall, there were a couple of students lined up and waiting in the hall outside of one open door. From inside the office, the sound of voices was audible. Even this far away, Yuuri could hear a tenor voice speaking with a Russian accent.

Viktor stopped suddenly, nearly tripping Yuuri. Yuuri could feel the sudden tension in the air. "Viktor?"

"That's…" Viktor turned his body away from the door, looking like he was ready to bolt. "That is him."

"Viktor." Yuuri ran his hand over Viktor's arm. He had never seen Viktor this close to falling apart, not even after Yuuri had been kidnapped off the St. Petersburg streets by Viktor's mother. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"No." Viktor turned his arm over to grasp Yuuri's hand in his. His shoulders went back, and that false cheer that Yuuri hated so much returned to Viktor's face. "I will do this."

Letting go of Yuuri's hand, Viktor moved to the side of the corridor to sit on a bench against the wall. Yuuri sat beside him, taking a moment to settle before reaching for Viktor's hand again. Viktor twined his fingers with Yuuri's. The only sounds in the quiet hallway were the voices coming from the office.

"I always used to hate office hours," Yuuri said quietly after a few minutes.

"What is an 'office hour'?"

Yuuri ran his thumb over Viktor's ring. "It's when professors sit in their offices and students can go ask for help." Yuuri shook his head. "I always hated going to them, because I didn't understand the material and the professors kept looking at me like I was stupid. And when it was competition season, I missed so much class that I had to go to office hours all the time."

"Ah." Viktor shifted closer to Yuuri. "But you are not stupid, my Yuuri. You are very smart."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"Bah. I barely passed the state exams after high school. Yakov told me it was a good thing that I was certified by the Russian Figure Skating Union, otherwise I'd never have delayed my military service." Something in Viktor's expression shifted. "I'm too old to be conscripted, now. I had not thought of that."

Yuuri, who had listened to Yurio's opinions on Russian military conscription at length one day while the boy was working on his homework, squeezed Viktor's hand.

"My father avoided the draft because of me," Viktor went on. "Someone… who was it? When I was seven, I think, they said how sorry they felt for him, that having a stupid child like me was a poor trade-off to avoid military service."

Yuuri sat back, more than a little surprised. "Did your dad tell you about that?" he demanded.

"No, I was there to hear it." Viktor looked at Yuuri with an unfathomable expression on his face. "I told you, everyone thought I was too stupid to understand them."

Anger washed over Yuuri's body, leaving him cold. "Did your dad think the same thing?" he demanded, the words short and choppy.

"No," Viktor said. He put his hand on Yuuri's knee. "He always talked to me like I was normal. He knew why I didn't talk much."

Down the hall, a student emerged from the office, and the waiting pair went inside.

"Was it because of your mother?" Yuuri asked. He remembered being at the lake, how he had somehow managed to talk with Viktor's mother without making any sound. The remembered press of her words in his head made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Wait. No. That wasn't a memory. Yuuri turned his head. A flicker of darkness hovered by the office door behind them. Yuuri didn't think it was threatening, or malicious, it was just there… and it also wasn't there.

Yuuri pressed closer to Viktor. So far, none of the shadows had tried to hurt him in any way, but they did make him uneasy.

Viktor took Yuuri's movement as an invitation to put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. "Did I not speak as a child because of my mother?" His voice was empty. "It could be said that yes, that was so."

Yuuri leaned into Viktor, putting the shadow out of his mind for a second. All day, Viktor's English had been more stilted than usual. At first, Yuuri had wondered if the argument with Yakov was to blame, but now he thought that whatever was in Viktor's head about his father was probably the cause.

"I do not want to say of this any more." Viktor pressed his lips together. "I don't want to _talk_ about this any more."

Yuuri rested his head on Viktor's shoulder, wishing he could do something to make this whole day less terrible for Viktor. "Okay."

Viktor breathed against Yuuri's hair. "Tell me of you."

The black shape was drifting around into the middle of the hall. Yuuri made an effort to avoid looking at it. "You know everything about me."

"Them tell me something of you that I already know."

Yuuri pretended to think. "I think that frappuccino was a bad idea."

Viktor let out a sharp breath. " _Tu es un homme impossible_ ," he murmured.

Yuuri fixed his gaze on a poster across the hallway. "Do you think anyone will ever be able to land a quad axel?"

Viktor's fingers tightened on Yuuri's arm. "Do we really have this argument here, in this hallway?"

"Sure." The dark shape drifted closer to Yuuri and Viktor. "I can get four and a half rotations when I jump on the trampolines at the conditioning gym."

"You'll never get that much lift off the ice on just your skates." Viktor's words were smoothing out, coming less choppy now that they were on the familiar topic of skating. "You weigh too much. And someone like Yurio won't have the muscle for that sort of lift until after he hits his growing and then he will weigh too much too."

"People used to say that about a quad loop, but it's possible."

"Maybe not for a while." Viktor pressed a kiss against Yuuri's hair. "I know you are strong, my Yuuri, but do not go doing foolish things on the ice. At your age, it would be impossible to come back from a torn ligament."

"I'll be careful," Yuuri promised, half distracted. The dark shape was get even closer, and Yuuri wondered if he should get Viktor away.

With a clatter, the two students left the office at the end of the hall, talking as they walked towards the stairs. The dark shape in the middle of the hall got pulled into their wake, floating along with them. Yuuri nearly called out as the shadow suddenly twisted and rammed itself into the boy's feet, causing him to trip and drop his armful of books to the floor.

"Fuck," the boy muttered as he and his companion knelt to gather up the mess. "I hate this building so much."

Yuuri frowned after the boy, but didn't have the time to think about what had happened as Viktor was getting to his feet. Viktor had gone very pale; everything about him more _still_ than normal.

Yuuri felt like he was standing at the top of a gravelly hill, trying to balance before his feet gave way out from under him.

Without a word, Viktor walked towards the office, Yuuri pulled along in his wake. The hallway was too quiet, like the whole world held its breath.

Viktor slowly drew up to the door. Yuuri looked around his fiancé into the office to where a dark-haired man in a suit was standing, his back to them, flipping through papers before putting some into a shoulder bag.

Viktor opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Yuuri shifted forward, to put his hand on Viktor's arm. As he moved, the floor under his feet creaked slightly.

Without turning, the man said, "You'll have to come back another day, I have a class in ten minutes."

Viktor let out his breath with a soft hitch, one Yuuri had only ever heard when Viktor was in pain. "Papa."

The man jerked around, knocking over a stack of folders. The papers cascaded to the ground in a wash of sound. "Vitya," the man said, almost disbelieving. "You're here."

Viktor swallowed, still staring. Yuuri was staring too, more in faint bewilderment than anything else. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting in Viktor's father, but this man wasn't it. Alexei Nikiforov was a fraction taller than Viktor, more broad-shouldered than Viktor, with brown hair and eyes… and he looked absolutely nothing like his son.

He was also a great deal younger than Yuuri had been expecting.

Yuuri gave Viktor's arm a gentle squeeze, and that one gesture brought Viktor back to life. He plastered a smile on his face as he took a few steps into the office. "Of course I'm here!" The English words were a little too loud. "I have never been to Boston before, how do I not come to see you?"

A smile spread across Alexei's face as he stepped towards his son. "I am so glad to see you." He put his arms around Viktor and hugged him, one hand going up to cup the back of Viktor's head. Viktor returned the embrace, his fingers clutching at his father's jacket reflexively.

Yuuri couldn't see Viktor's face, but he knew that set of Viktor's shoulders, and tension crawled through his stomach. He didn't know what to do.

"Ah, Vitya, it has been too long," Alexei was saying, putting his hands on Viktor's upper arms as he moved back to look at Viktor. "You look good."

Viktor shrugged, brushing his hair back from his face. "You, ah, you too."

Alexei patted Viktor's arms before turning towards Yuuri. "Alexei Nikiforov," he said, holding out his hand. Yuuri stepped forward to complete the handshake, for some reason finding himself squeezing a bit tighter than he usually did.

"Yuuri Katsuki," Yuuri said as he released Alexei's hand. He didn't know how else to introduce himself; would Viktor want it to be known that Yuuri was his fiancé?

"This year's gold medalist," Alexei said, a small smile on his face. "Congratulations, that was an outstanding performance."

Yuuri's brain tripped over those words. Viktor's head shot up. "You watched the free program?" Viktor asked, his voice higher than usual.

Alexei's smile slipped into a not-entirely-happy twitch of the mouth. "I watch all of your performances, Vitya." He touched Viktor's arm again. "You were amazing, as always."

Viktor shrugged again, his gaze falling to somewhere on the desk. "I, uh…" He moved his jaw sideways in irritation. " _J'étais pressé. La musique est un cliché_."

"Even when you are in a rush, my boy, you are always spectacular." Alexei shifted, glancing at his watch. "I only wish you had come a little sooner, I have a seminar this afternoon that I cannot delay."

"No, no," Viktor said, backing up into the doorjamb. He overcorrected and bumped into Yuuri, who reached out to steady him. "It's my fault, you have to go."

Alexei slowly picked up his shoulder bag. "it's been so long since we have seen each other, Vitya." He slung the bag strap over his shoulder. "Do you… are you flying out tonight? Could we not go to dinner?"

Viktor nodded. His hair fell over one eye, but this time he didn't push it back. "Yes, we—Dinner, yes."

Alexei's smile was back. "Excellent." He reached over the desk to grab something. "Why don't you two discuss it, and text me with the details." He held out the small business card. Since Viktor didn't move, Yuuri reached out to take it.

"Would eight work?" Yuuri asked as he put the card into his pocket.

"It would, yes." Alexei offered his hand again to Yuuri for another handshake. "It was good to meet you."

"Likewise," Yuuri lied.

Viktor, in the meantime, had taken a step back out into the hallway. "I don't want to keep you from your class, Papa."

"Do not worry, I can be a few minutes late," Alexei said, closing his office door once Yuuri was back in the hall. "One of the benefits of tenure."

Down the hallway, someone was stapling papers to a bulletin board. Yuuri caught a hint of half-seen motion as the dark shadow whipped down the hallway, pushing through the stack of papers on the floor and scattering them across the tiles. The woman swore under her breath.

Alexei sighed. "Of course, one of the downsides of tenure in this department is getting stuck with an office in this hallway." He turned a key in the door's lock.

Viktor was rubbing at the back of his hand, just below his watch strap. "Why?"

"People say this building is haunted." Alexei pocketed his keys. "But, you know. Americans. They will believe anything is a ghost."

Yuuri bit his lip. Was that some sort of hidden comment about Viktor's mother? Viktor wasn't reacting, but was Yuuri supposed to say anything?

"Yakov always says," Viktor started, then flushed. He dug his thumbnail into the skin of his wrist. "Yakov used to tell me that when he was competing, the Soviet skaters would tell the Americans that the practice rink was haunted."

Alexei put his arm around Viktor's shoulders; a friendly, paternal gesture. Yuuri tried to push down his emotions when he saw Viktor lean against his father's side. "Yakov has been telling you that story since you were seven years old," Alexei said. "And you would come home and ask me if the American were dumb enough to believe that every practice rink was haunted."

Viktor smiled faintly. "And you said that nervous teenagers tend to believe a lot of things."

Alexei patted Viktor's arm. "Vitya. I must go," he said regretfully. "I look forward to seeing you at dinner."

"Sure." Viktor hesitated, then stepped away from his father. "Tonight."

"Tonight." Alexei looked at Viktor for a long moment, then turned to give Yuuri a quick nod before striding off down the hall.

Yuuri exhaled as the man's footsteps echoed down the hallway. "Viktor."

Viktor had gone back to worrying at his watch strap. "Do you think we could find a practice rink?" he asked, his voice brittle in a way Yuuri had never heard. "To skate at?"

Yuuri put his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Viktor. With the man in such an agitated state, Yuuri wasn't sure if he could welcome physical contact. "We might," Yuuri said cautiously. "But we would be recognized. People would want to talk to us."

Viktor's thumb slipped, his nail gouging a line in his skin. Yuuri let out a soft exclamation as he hurried over, taking Viktor's wrist in his hand. "No skating, then," Viktor said, staring at his arm.

After making sure that Viktor hadn't drawn any blood, Yuuri gently clasped Viktor's hand in both of his. "Do you want to go back to the hotel?" he asked. His voice sounded calm, even as his insides were skaing with uncertainty. He had never seen Viktor so lost before, and he didn't know what to do. "We can go find a cab."

Viktor's eyes were locked to their joined hands. "Yes. The hotel. I want to… the hotel."

Yuuri slid his fingers through Viktor's, gently guiding him along the hallway. He was worried at how easily Viktor was letting Yuuri take charge. "Do you want me to call Yakov?"

"No." Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hand. "He will say to me, _foolish boy_ , and ask to me what I expected. It is far faster to have the conversation in my head."

The strength was coming back into Viktor's voice. Breathing a little easier, Yuuri led Viktor down the stairs and out into the afternoon sun.

"Do you think there is a place to get a taxi?" Viktor asked as Yuuri towed him down the path.

"Probably." With his free hand, Yuuri fumbled for his phone. "It'd be faster to get an Uber."

He scrolled through his screens, looking for the app he hadn't used since leaving Detroit. Thankfully, it was still active, so Yuuri ordered a car, then hauled Viktor over to a bench by the side of the road to wait.

Viktor waited until Yuuri sat down at his side before saying, "He knew your name."

"Yes," Yuuri said, distracted. "Are you okay with that?"

Viktor put his arm around Yuuri, pressing in close. "I did not think that he would still watch me skate." Viktor's voice had gone quiet again. "What would be the point?"

Yuuri looked up at the sky, trying to breathe around the anger in his chest. Anger, that a simple ten-minute encounter with Viktor's father could reduce Viktor to complete shambles… and also at himself for not being able to do anything to _help_. "The point," Yuuri said, knowing his voice was too sharp and not being able to stop it, "Is that you are the world's best figure skater and your father should respect that."

Viktor put his chin on Yuuri's shoulder. His breathing was rapid, like he had just run a mile. "I'm not the best any more," and Viktor tried to smile before pressing a kiss against Yuuri's cheek.

"That's fucking bullshit." Yuuri's vehemence surprised Viktor into sitting back. "One silver medal does not undo all the golds you've achieved for the last ten years."

Viktor just stared at Yuuri.

"Also," and Yuuri's face had gone red at his outburst, "What about your debut as a coach? Has anyone else ever had a skater place second at the Grand Prix Final and then get gold at Worlds in their first year?"

"Probably not," Viktor said softly.

"See?" Yuuri sat back, embarrassment warring with the lingering embers of rage. "You're amazing."

Viktor stared for a moment longer, then he curled back up against Yuuri's side. "My Yuuri," he said, putting his hand on Yuuri's knee.

"Forever," Yuuri whispered, kissing the top of Viktor's head. "I'm yours forever."

They sat like that until the car pulled up. They rode back to the hotel without talking about the afternoon, although Yuuri responded to the inquiries from their driver while Viktor stared out the window. By the time they were dropped off at the hotel, some of the tension has loosened itself from Viktor's limbs, although the shadows still lingered in his eyes.

They ran into a gaggle of skaters in the lobby. Mila and Sara had their arms linked with the lowest-placed Japanese figure skater, Yoshino Tomoko, who looked a little shell-shocked. Behind the girls, Michele, Emil and, surprisingly, Seung-gil brought up the rear.

"Viktor!" Mila called as the two groups approached each other. "We're going to 'see the sights'!" She and Sara struck their best selfie poses. "Come too?"

Viktor smiled faintly. "Not today, Milochka."

The young woman wrinkled her nose at Viktor. "Don't _call_ me that!"

In the meantime, Yuuri met Tomoko's eyes. "Are you all right to go with them?" he asked in Japanese.

She dipped her head in a nod. "My English is reasonable, and I have the translation app," she said. "This will probably be the last chance I will ever have to have fun, once I go back home and back to studying."

While the Europeans bickered good-humouredly, Yuuri made a face. "When do you write your university entrance exams?"

"Next year."

"Yuuri!" Sara interrupted. "Can't you come with us?"

"Sorry," Yuuri said, switching back to English. "We have things we need to do."

Sara effected a huge sigh. "I hope I am not this boring when I get old," she said, pulling Tomoko and Mila towards the door.

Yuuri met Seung-gil's eyes as the younger skater moved to follow the girls. "Have fun," Yuuri offered, and was surprised to see Seung-gil give a very faint smile.

"We always have fun!" Emil put in, hauling Michele along by his elbow. "See you next time!"

Viktor watched the other skaters leave, his media-ready smile still on his face. Once the door closed behind Michele and Emil, Viktor turned towards the concierge desk.

Yuuri stayed where he was in the middle of the lobby. He was tired, and confused, and his stomach hurt just a little bit from the frappuchino. Viktor was acting so strangely, and Yuuri didn't know what to do.

Rubbing his stomach, Yuuri trailed along after Viktor.

At the concierge desk, Viktor was saying, "…reservations for three, tonight at eight."

"And what sort of restaurant?" the woman behind the desk asked.

When Yuuri bumped into his side, Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders and pulled him in close. His smile had gone sharp. "The sort of place a successful man takes the father who fell out of his life over a decade ago."

"Viktor," Yuuri murmured, casting an eye about to see if anyone in the skating world was in listening distance. Skaters were insatiable gossips, and Yuuri didn't know how much of his business Viktor wanted spread around.

The concierge didn't so much as blink. "Were you thinking steak, Mediterranean, or seafood?"

"Mediterranean," Yuuri said, at the same time as Viktor said, "Steak." They looked at each other. "Steak is a bit much for the night before our flight home," Yuuri pointed out.

Viktor looked back to the concierge. "Mediterranean, _s'il vous plait_."

While the woman picked up the phone, Viktor turned into Yuuri's embrace, a small pause in the chaos of their day. "How are you feeling?" Yuuri asked quietly.

Viktor took a long moment in answering. "It is strange," he said. "I see Yakov day after day, and when I am around him I seldom think about being a child in his house. But today, I see my father…" Viktor breathed out. "I see my father and I am eight years old again."

Yuuri ran his hand along Viktor's side. "I'm sorry."

Viktor shrugged. "It might be worse," he said, then accepted the piece of paper handed to him by the concierge. " _Merci, madam_."

The woman smiled at them. "Have a safe flight home."

"Back up to our room?" Yuuri asked as they turned across the lobby.

"Yes, please," Viktor said. "Perhaps we can continue our discussion on your wholesome state of mind?"

While Yuuri blushed, a raised voice caught them before they got to the elevators. "Viktor!" Yakov called again, stomping over in their direction. "I have been trying to get you for an hour, answer your phone!"

"I put it on silent," Viktor said, coming to a halt but not letting go of Yuuri.

"Of course you did, why would you need to stay in touch with your coach during an international competition?" Yakov narrowed his eyes at Viktor. "What's wrong with you?" He transferred his glare to Yuuri. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing, Coach Yakov," Yuuri said instinctively.

"Don't cover up for him." Yakov looked again. "I'd think you were hung over but I saw you this morning. What is it?"

Viktor looked up at the ceiling, then said something in Russian. Yuuri caught the word _father_ in the string of words.

Yuuri's brows lowered, his glare intensifying. He flung something back at Viktor in Russian, in which Yuuri was pretty sure some version of _foolish boy_ would be making an appearance. Viktor batted Yakov's words away with his hand, replying in choppy Russian along with an expressive shrug.

Yakov turned away, waving at Viktor dismissively. "You, Katsuki," Yakov said. "You watch out for him now, you understand? I need him back in Russia in once piece!"

"Yes, Coach Yakov."

"Back at practice in three weeks!" Yakov looked at Viktor, and poked his finger into Viktor's arm with each word. "In. Three. Weeks. No partying over the summer, Vitya, if you're crazy enough to try for another season at twenty-eight!"

Viktor pushed his hair back from his face to look at Yakov. "How about if I say I will try for the Olympics at thirty?" he challenged.

"Bah," Yakov replied. "Thirty. Only a fool would go to the Olympics at thirty. You're competing against children with twice your motivation."

"Yes, but you don't have to worry I will overestimate what I can do on the ice." Viktor lowered his voice. "How is Yurio?"

Yakov's face lost some of its irritation, which was not a good sign. "He is bruised and he is cranky. I wish Lillia had come on this trip; she at least has some control over the brat."

"Lillia hates Boston."

"I know! I know! Everyone keeps telling me things that I already know!" Yakov came at Viktor for a hug and a bruising back-slap. "Go, make your bad decisions. Keep Katsuki close, at least he keeps that head of his where it belongs, on his neck!"

Viktor grinned suddenly. "I knew you would warm up to him."

"Bah! Get out of my sight!"

Viktor took Yuuri's hand to pull him towards the elevators, leaving Yakov behind to stalk off. "I guess he doesn't like your dad very much," Yuuri said cautiously once they were alone in the elevator.

Viktor leaned back against the elevator wall, looking up at the numbers flick higher with each floor. "He calls my father a distraction to me," Viktor said. "When I looked for him at competitions, when I looked through the mail to see if he had written to me a letter, always Yakov said I was whirling myself up into distraction."

Yuuri only had eyes for Viktor. In profile, the man was sharp, with a fragility that worried Yuuri. "Was he ever there? In the crowd?"

"No." Viktor blinked at the elevator door. "In the beginning, at least, he would write. Then the letters slowed down. Then they stopped."

The elevator doors opened. For a moment, neither of them moved.

With a breath, Viktor pushed himself off the wall and out of the elevator. Yuuri followed, catching Viktor's hand as they walked down the hall. He hadn't been sure of how Viktor would react to this gesture, but the way Viktor's hand tightened around his put Yuuri's fears to rest.

Upon entering their hotel room, Yuuri kicked off his shoes. Viktor walked up to the bed and collapsed onto it face-first.

"We have a few hours until dinner," Yuuri called, unbuttoning the vest Viktor had lent him. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Viktor made a muffled sound.

"We could still go and catch up with the others for their sightseeing tour."

Viktor lifted his hand to flash Yuuri a rude guesture.

"Suit yourself." Yuuri pulled his button-down shirt over his head and went in search of a t-shirt. "I think I want to watch a movie."

Viktor rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. "What movie?"

"I don't know." Yuuri found a t-shirt sticking out of his suitcase and yanked it on. He went over to where Viktor was lying, and bent over to pull off the man's shoes. "You could go for a run if you don't feel like staying here."

With a groan, Viktor sat up. "I don't want to go for a run," he muttered, awkwardly shucking off his coat. "I don't want to watch a movie, either."

Yuuri got onto the bed, settling back on the pillows. "Do you want to watch some videos of Makkachin with me?"

Viktor didn't reply as he pulled off his suit jacket, then his tie. Then he crawled up the bed, putting his head on Yuuri's shoulder and cuddling close to him. "Maybe."

Yuuri put one arm around Viktor's shoulders, kissing his forehead. He could feel the tension in Viktor's body, and, not knowing how else to help Viktor, he opened the folder on his phone with his Makkachin videos, and started playing one at random.

Wordlessly, they watched video after video. Some of them Yuuri had taken in Hasetsu, of Viktor and Makkachin running in circles on the beach, or of Makkachin lying on Viktor at the onsen's dining room, or up in Viktor's room. There were others, too, from his time in St. Petersburg, of Makkachin and Viktor on walks, at the ice rink, and of them at home curled up on the couch. Yuuri found that he was smiling at the dog's antics, and at how very happy Viktor looked when he was with Makkachin.

As he went from video to video, the tension in Viktor's body faded, and his breathing slowed. After about half an hour, Viktor had gone limp and heavy against Yuuri as sleep took over.

Once he was sure Viktor was asleep, Yuuri put down his phone. His emotions from the day were churning in his stomach, but, surprisingly, his anxiety had moved to the background. It happened very rarely; Phichit had laughingly called it 'anxiety's mom-friend loophole', but when someone Yuuri cared about was having difficulty, Yuuri was suddenly able to push his anxiety down and do things that would normally have him balled up in the corner.

It had never happened with Viktor. Or, if Yuuri was being brutally honest with himself, he had never been in a situation where Viktor needed Yuuri to take charge. Viktor was the confident one, the outgoing one, the one the reporters and photographers always spoke to first. At skating events, Viktor was charming and debonair, even if afterwards he didn't remember half the people he spoke to. When he ran into what Yuuri would consider an embarrassing situation, Viktor just shrugged it off and was on to the next encounter.

It was only recently, first with his mother and then with his father, that Yuuri had seen Viktor start to crack.

At least with his mother, Viktor had only been consumed with worry – worry first for Yuuri's safety, and then worry that Yuuri might leave him upon finding out that Viktor was… different. Yuuri tightened his arm around Viktor, causing the sleeping man to shift closer to Yuuri. Yuuri kissed his hair and waited for Viktor to settle back into sleep.

Yuuri knew that he would never leave Viktor. In the year since Viktor had arrived suddenly in Hasetsu, Yuuri had come to know so much about Viktor; his likes and dislikes, his strengths and his weaknesses. At his heart, Yuuri knew Viktor was a good man, a determined man, who demanded perfection of himself in almost every aspect of his life.

But he was also kind, and fragile in ways he hid from the world. Only when he had let Yuuri in close to his heart, did Yuuri see how delicate Viktor's heart truly was, like spun glass wrapped in silk.

Viktor was unbelievably precious to him.

"I love you," Yuuri whispered to Viktor in Japanese. "You are the most special person in my entire life." He absently stroked the back of Viktor's neck with his thumb. "I will do anything for you."

Unwanted thoughts came into Yuuri's mind, about how he had felt that afternoon watching Viktor interact with his father. It hadn't seemed like _Viktor_ at all. He had been too hesitant, too uncertain, too… raw.

It tore Yuuri apart to see Viktor falling to pieces like that.

And what bothered Yuuri the most was that Viktor's father didn't even seem to _notice_. He had just acted as if Viktor being unable to complete a sentence was _normal_ , like Viktor not being able to look anyone in the eye was _normal_. How little did he know his son that he hadn't asked if something was wrong?

Yuuri took in a breath and let it out slowly, then picked up his phone. Who did this Alexei Nikiforov think he was, anyway? How could he have dropped out of Viktor's life on a whim, leaving him with Yakov?

Yuuri didn't have children, had hardly given any thought to being a father, but he could not imagine himself raising a child for twelve years and then just walking away.

Carefully, to avoid jostling Viktor, Yuuri typed Alexei's name into his phone's browser. He had a strange sense of _déjà vu_ , seeking out information on one of Viktor's parents while Viktor slept, but he pushed that feeling aside.

The search results came up. The top result was for the rate-my-professor website, the next an academic page from Harvard, which Yuuri opened. On the page was a photograph of Alexei and a biography, with a course listing and contact information on the side. The first paragraph of the biography talked about Alexei's areas of specialization in the Russian revolution and the early days of the Soviet Union.

The second paragraph detailed highlights of the man's career. Yuuri frowned when he got down to the line explaining that Alexei had achieved his five-year degree at Saint Petersburg State University in 1996. Yuuri knew from talking to Yurio and Mila about college in Russia that most men went into college immediately after high school to avoid military conscription.

But in 1996, Viktor had been seven years old.

Yuuri looked at the numbers on his screen again. If his math was right, Alexei had been sixteen years old when Viktor was born.

_Sixteen_. When Yuuri was sixteen, he was a complete adolescent mess. He tried to imagine himself having to raise a baby while still in high school, and came up against an utter blank.

His own father had been thirty when Yuuri was born, twenty-four when they'd had Mari. His mother had been nineteen then, the same age as Yuuko was when she had the triplets. But there were three long years between sixteen and nineteen, and being a single parent was a long way away from having a partner to help with everything.

Viktor muttered something in his sleep, pressing his head against Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri put his phone down to stroke Viktor's hair.

Sixteen.

In everything Viktor had told Yuuri about growing up in Russia, he had never indicated that his father was so _young_. How had Alexei finished high school? How had he gone through college while raising Viktor? Why had he left Viktor in Russia when he moved to the States?

Another idea, one that Yuuri had been trying to ignore since he had met Viktor's mother, floated up in his mind. How had Viktor been conceived? The few times Yuuri had thought about it, he'd always been vaguely disquieted at the idea of Ekaterina, who had died young, and an older man; how had she not just drowned him like rusalkas were supposed to?

But if Alexei had been so young, sixteen, or even fifteen, much the same age as Ekaterina herself when she died…

Yuuri's stomach twisted in discomfort. He didn't like the way his thoughts were drifting to dark places when it came to Viktor.

He closed his eyes. Whatever had happened in the past, the only thing Yuuri could do was to be there for Viktor and support him, no matter what lay in their future.

And at that moment, all Yuuri could do was to hold Viktor and keep him safe.

_to be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ненормальный – abnormal  
> умственно отсталый – mentally retarded  
> Tu es un homme impossible – you are a impossible man  
> J'étais pressé. La musique est un cliché. – I was in a hurry. The music is cliché
> 
> * * *
> 
> From my research, prior to 2007 Russian tertiary education was undertaken as a 5 or 6 year degree resulting in a specialist diploma, which encompassed the equivalent of a bachelor and masters degree. So, anyway.
> 
> * * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr in the meantime](https://mhalachai.tumblr.com/).


End file.
